


Cin Vhetin

by ExperimentalMadness



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone needs a hug and it's going to take a while until we get it, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, In fact touch starved OC while we're at it, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved Din, Trauma Recovery, there is just so much fighting in place of Feelings, we're not waiting for canon we're just winging it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentalMadness/pseuds/ExperimentalMadness
Summary: Trying to lay low after the imperial attack on Nevarro, Din finds himself pursued by a new and dangerous hunter. When circumstances force them to make an uneasy truce they discover that the two are stronger together than apart. Din sees potential in the hunter, but she has a few secrets of her own that threaten to shatter the fragile bond forming between them.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 110





	1. Deserter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends! This is just a fun fic idea I had that ran away from me rather spectacularly. It's an OC fic, but if you wanted to read as a reader fic please do. :) I'm very excited to share these stories with you as we wait for season 2.

The nearby green-dusted planet of Raydonia was a welcome sight after a couple days of hyperspace. Pulling the Razor Crest into a slow dive to enter the atmosphere, Din Djarin hazarded one quick glance over his shoulder. 

“What do you think? Good enough for a few days?”

One long green ear waggled as the baby gave a curious babble as it tried to lean over its seat to stare down at the approaching forests below. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Bouncing from planet to planet wasn’t exactly ideal. Maybe he was just paranoid. Better to be overly cautious than risk ambush. The events of Nevarro were only a few weeks into the past, but retaliation from the Imps would be swift...if it was ever coming. He’d rather scramble their location as much as possible before beginning his next proper course. 

Which was…what exactly?

Forests and canyons began to take proper shape as the Razor Crest pulled down slowly for a landing. There was a small settlement not far that he knew of. Backwater, out of the way. Perfect for a supply run and then back again bouncing through the Outer Rim until he felt secure enough that he wasn’t being followed. 

The kid was babbling behind him.

Where did he even start to find where the child had come from? He couldn’t train it yet, the kid was way too young. He’d never seen another of his species before that he could recall. What was he going to do? Wander the galaxy asking if anyone had seen anything like it but older? 

“Hey, careful,” Din grabbed the kid as it tried to climb up over the dash to lean against the window. He strapped it back into its seat even while it grumbled at him. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna fall.”

Once securely on the ground, Din switched the engines off and unstrapped his restless charge from his seat. The kid was off like a shot, truddling out of the cockpit. Din had to be fast to grab it before it tried to climb down the ladder. You’d think the kid would know by know its legs were too short to get down that thing. But everytime…

“Okay,” he set the child down as he opened the doors, lowering the gangplank. “Supplies, fuel, and then we’re out of here. Got it?”

The kid looked up at him with an eager smile, ears perking up, ready to stretch its legs. The minute the plank was down the kid was off. Din sighed. At least here there wasn’t much change of it getting into too much trouble.

***

The settlement was exactly as Din remembered it. Small, innocuous, but surprisingly well stocked from the steady cargo freighters that visited. Most of the residents had stayed out of the Rebellion, preferring to remain neutral and work the surrounding land. The Empire had never bothered with Raydonia much either. Almost everyone overlooked it. 

And that suited Din fine.

It was, however, slightly more diversified than the last few times he had visited. Ex-pilots of both republic and imperial make had joined the settlement. Deserters most likely. Old loyalties didn’t seem to matter too much here. He clocked a few of the former imps but as long as they were content to ignore his presence he could tolerate theirs. Didn’t stop him instinctively reaching for his blaster when one drew too close. 

“What do you want?”

“Uh,” the woman went a bit pale in the face. “You put in a supply order, right? My-my boss says we can send it to your ship.”

Din relaxed and gave the needed directions sending the skittish woman away. So not all the deserters were fighters here. That one was probably just some glorified bureaucrat. More annoying, but not nearly as dangerous. 

The outdoor cantina provided a centralized location to people-watch while the order was fulfilled. The settlement was even smaller than the one on Sorgan, which was saying something. Across from the table the kid was banging its now-empty cup on the table. “You want more?”

He took the babble for a yes. “Stay there,” he said, taking the empty cup back up to the counter for a refill. 

At the bar there was a small congregation of ex-Rebel fighters. One wore an old bomber jacket, the other a modified helmet favored by the X-Wing fighter pilots. Red and black, with a tinted visor grafted over the usually open, transparent one. A black respirator covered the ex-pilot’s mouth. Definitely fighters. Maybe Cara even knew them once. Neither one glanced his way. 

His breath came up short when he turned back to his table only to find it completely empty. 

Damnit, couldn’t that kid stay still for one second?

He slammed the cup down on the table and scanned the area. It couldn’t have gone far, not on those little legs. Careful to not outwardly project open panic, Din made a circuit of the catina. 

“This one with you?” A raspy, modulated voice echoed out from behind him. 

It was the pilot. They were holding the green nuisance in their arms. “Think he likes my helmet,” they said, plucking tiny claws away from the tinted visor as they tried to hand it off to him. 

“Thanks.”

The pilot just waved him off before going back to her companion. “Keep an eye on it, easy to get lost around here.”

Din waited until the pilot was out of earshot before berating his charge. “Right, now that we’ve made ourselves known here I’d say it’s time to get going.”

The kid gurgled agreement.

***

The requested barrels of fuel and a crate of new supplies were already waiting for Din when he arrived back the Razor Crest. It took a couple of trips to get it all loaded up, and to keep the kid from trying to help by levitating one fuel cell off the ground. 

With the doors sealed up, Din went back up to the cockpit. He’d fly low and land again some distance from the settlement before calling it a night. Just three days of that and then they’d go offworld. 

Powering back up Din tried to take them out, but the engine gave a whirring groan in response. 

_What the…_

He tried it again. His ship only gave a lazy lurch and a sputtering whine. Kicking the consol, Din checked on the fuel output. Empty. Impossible, he just replaced it. The kid gave a concerned coo. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, exasperated. “Stay here, I’m checking the engines,” he stormed out of the cockpit before reappearing a second later, wagging a finger at the kid. “And I mean it this time!”

He climbed back down, running through a mental checklist of things that could possibly result in the fuel cell failure. He opened the doors and made his way over to the aft engine. 

“Hey there,” a familiar, modulated voice said from behind. 

He looked over his shoulder. The ex-pilot with the red and black helmet was there. They pointed up at the engine in question, casually. “Ship trouble?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sure you don’t want any help?” the offer was friendly, even if the modulator in their flight helmet made it sound disinterested. “I’m good with ships.”

“I’m sure,” Din snapped. “Thanks,” he added a beat later, turning his attention back on the engine.

“Been a while since I saw a Razor Crest,” the pilot went on. “Older model. Older ships always get engine trouble. Fuel cells go in, but you know the wiring can sometimes get loose. Sometimes a panel comes out, something gets in and it’s just done.”

Instinct made Din slowly reach for the vibroblade he had up sleeve, flicking out the handle so that it met with his palm, but he did not turn around, making a show of examining the engine instead. “You gonna keep talking until I let you help aren’t you?”

Something that almost sounded like laughter rasped out. “No, but I am going to need you to put down that knife.”

Slowly, Din turned about to find himself face-to-face with a blaster. The pilot stood almost lazily to one side, keeping him within their sights. “No hard feelings,” they said with that same constant disinterest. “Just doing my job.” 

And they fired. 


	2. Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat-and-mouse game between Din and the mysterious hunter continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comment! I hope you enjoy this next bit, I promise we'll be doing a deep dive into this new OC soon.

It was a decent enough shot. 

If he hadn’t been wearing the beskar they’d have him dead to rights. Din was blasted backwards into the side of his ship, falling over with a grunt. Either the rebel pilot-turned-hunter had never encountered beskar before, or they were inexperienced—they stood for a few seconds in shock that he wasn’t dead.

And that was all the time he needed. 

He threw the vibroblade as he rose to his feet. The hunter’s respirator crackled with static as they dodged out of the way, still not fast enough. A bright flash of red blossoming out of their shoulder as the blade grazed right through their thick jacket. 

There was no more hesitation from the hunter then. They charged him, knocking him back to the ground. They had a blade of their own in hand, raise to strike. Din lunged upwards, kicking them off of him. They tucked into a backwards roll, skidding onto hands and knees before springing up again with a lithe twist. 

Not so inexperienced, then. 

The knife left her hand with ease, Din scattered it aside with his vambrace. She had another ready to follow it, and Din had just enough momentum to block the onslaught a second time. They backed off and fired another blaster shot at range, a low growl rumbled through their helmet as the beskar remained, scorred, but otherwise unmarred. 

His turn. 

Unhooking his blaster he fired three shots in succession. The hunter dodged with a speed that defied their physical form, using the side of the Razor Crest to gain height and leap behind him. A blast caught the back of his helmet, making him see stars for only a moment.

But they were on him again like an angered vornskr. He ran backwards, slamming their head into the bottom of the aft engine. A grunt of discomfort from the hunter, a second hit and they slid off of him. 

He had his blaster on their prone form only to find they had one drawn too, even with their head down on the ground. 

“Who sent you?” Din panted. 

Silence from the formerly talkative hunter and it was impossible to make out what they were thinking with the tinted helmet on. “Move, they gasped, rising to their feet, “and I’ll shoot.”

“Do it and I’ll double it. Only one of us is wearing armor.”

“Good point,” they replied with only a mild tone of amusement. “Rain check.” 

They were fiddling with something on their utility belt. “No, wait!” 

Smoke filled the area and relief coursed through Din’s veins. He had thought it was a detonator. Din’s hunter was gone as the smoke cleared, their only trace was the empty smoke grenade lying at his feet. He picked it up, examining it. 

Standard issue, no identifying markers that he could see. In fact it looked hand crafted. Pocketing it, he ran back up to the ship’s doors to check she hadn’t entered. 

“Hey, kid,” Din poked his head up past the ladder into the cockpit where the baby was keeping itself entertained by the window. “Alright in here?”

Assured that the foundling was still safe and well, Din went back to the engine. A panel had indeed been removed and someone had gotten into the wiring. It took nearly an hour, but he managed to fix the mess left behind. 

Just who was that hunter? 

He shut the doors as he reentered the ship. 

Getting the Razor Crest airborne again, he opened a comm frequency. He had gone dark in his communications over the last few weeks, not wanting anyone tapping in or tracking him. But if one hunter was already on his tail…

“My friend!” the small holo of Greef Karga answered, “to what do I owe the pleasant surprise?”

“Thought you said the Guild wasn’t hunting me anymore.” He did not have time for pleasantries. 

The holo frowned. “There’s been no mention of bounties to my knowledge, though the guild is still scattered thanks to the imperials.”

“Well  _ someone _ is still after me. Ex-rebellion I think. Modified pilot’s uniform and helmet. Mechanic. Possibly makes their own weapons. Sound familiar?”

Greef shook his head slowly. “Not exactly, but I’ll do some digging.”

“Ask Cara, if the hunter is a former rebel she might know.”

“She’s offworld now, but I’ll send a message out. Stay safe, friend, I’ll let you know when I have something.”

Din closed the channel and sat back in his seat with a sigh. It might not be worth it to stay on Raydonia after all. Not with a new pursuer so close. “Change of plans, kid.” 

He took the Razor Crest into orbit. If he wasn’t careful, he’d run out of backwater planets soon. 

***

The hyperspace trip was a short one, intended only to throw off any would-be pursuers. It was still relatively empty space out there. A few planets glowed distantly, giving Din some semblance of time and space. 

He began inputting the calculations for a second jump to the closest of the three planets visible when another ship pulled out of hyperspace in front of him. It was an older Lancer class ship, with most of its paint stripped off. A perfectly ordinary, unremarkable ship, if not a bit outdated. 

Din’s comm channel crackled to life, but he knew who’d be on the other end before they spoke. 

“Hey there,” came that same, vaguely disinterested, oddly amused modulated voice. The Lancer’s ion cannons swivelled to meet his ship and open fired. 

Din had just enough time for evasive maneuvers as the cannon fire lit up the blackness of space. From behind him the foundling gave a startled cry. “Hang on.”

The ship wasn’t ready to make another jump to lightspeed again so soon. Best bet was to continue to gain some distance. No time to engage. 

The Lancer was a much more maneuverable ship compared to the Razor Crest, but it was nearly as large. If he could get ahead of it, he could shake them off. Didn’t answer the question of how they found him out here in the first place. He had looked for a tracking beacon when he first fixed the engine and seen nothing. 

“Who sent you?” He tried hailing them again, swerving to avoid another cannon shot. The guild wasn’t sending hunters out for him anymore and even if someone else was they were unlikely to divulge. Switch tactics. “You’d get a lot more money for bringing us in alive.”

“Maybe,” the Lancer shot low and Din felt it reverberate against the shields. 

That was always the trouble with agile ships. They thought they could fly circles over you. Din pulled back abruptly, taking them into a tight spin and letting the Lancer carry forward on its own momentum. Din fired two shots. It was more than what he needed to take out one of the shields. The Lancer pulled back and Din shot forward, punching the last coordinates in for the jump to lightspeed. He didn’t have time to see if the Lancer recovered before they went careening into hyperspace.

***

The shields would need some fixing, but they had only been 35% depleted from the encounter. It could wait temporarily. The priority was landing. No settlement stops this time. It was more imperative than ever he hide with the child. There were three possible planets the hunter would believe he had escaped to in relative short range. They only needed to be right once. And whoever this was, they were smart enough to track them without a standard beacon. He couldn’t underestimate them a second time. 

It only took two days of hyperspace travel to reach their next destination. The planet Akiva was rather similar to Raydonia, but with far lusher tropical forests at its equator. Perfect for disappearing for a few days. They’d camp near the ship in case they needed to make a fast getaway. 

His comm channel blinked on and off and Dinn registered Greef’s call signature. “Hope it’s good news,” Din barked. “Whoever they are, they have decent tech. Got followed through hyperspace.”

“Depends on what you consider good,” Greef replied. “They’re not part of the guild. And Cara says just because she’s ex-military that doesn’t mean she knows every single soldier.”

“Worth a shot.”

“A contact did recognize the description you gave. Your hunter is a merc. The helmet was the giveaway. Seems they’ve picked up a bit of a reputation. Goes by the signature The Rebel. Never brings anyone back alive.”

“That explains some things at least.”

“If I hear anything else I’ll let you know. You and the kid alright?”

“For now. Can’t tell you where I’m going, but I’ll be in touch,” Din toggled the thrusters to prepare for the descent into the atmosphere. “Any chance you could get hunters on them?”

“I could, but I doubt you have the money to hire them,” Greef laughed before closing the channel. 

“Guess that means we’re on our own,” Din brough the ship down near a small clearing. With the engines off the sounds of the lush, tropical jungle began to permeate. He had seen signs of a few towns and settlements on the flyover, but he’d do his best to avoid them until it was absolutely necessary. 

“Come on,” he unstrapped the child from its seat, hoisting it up with on arm. “I can show you how to set up a perimeter.”

It would be five more days before Din caught sight of the Lancer entering Akiva. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do leave a comment or kudos! I would love to hear from you. Next episode should be along shortly.


	3. Into the Depths: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din forms an unlikely alliance on a dangerous planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has left kudos and bookmarked this story! I hope you continue to enjoy it. :) Things are about to heat up in a major way.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me where you are?”

“Positive.”

The holo of Cara Dune raised an eyebrow at Din as he sat back in his pilot’s seat. She looked well, wherever she was, and soundly annoyed at him. He found himself grinning under the helmet. “You’ve been out of contact for nearly a month. Greef was getting concerned.”

“You mean you were getting worried,” Din supplied, repressing a short laugh at the scowl that formed in the static of the holo. 

“I don’t get worried. I get nervous when my friends say they’re getting chased by mercs and then go comm-silent for weeks, you nerfherder.”

“Relax. Kid’s fine. I’m fine. Saw the ship break atmo weeks ago, but no sighting of the Rebel. Planet’s dense. Lots of canyons and jungles. Don’t think they saw me, should have moved on by now.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but given Cara’s “nervousness” he didn’t feel the need to further it by sharing his beliefs the hunter was still planetside. Someone who could track through hyperspace twice wasn’t someone who was going to be prone to leaving simply because they hadn’t found their quarry in a few days. Or months. And it was obvious that despite his omission, Cara picked up on what was left unsaid. 

“An Imperial-hired merc isn’t just going to turn tail so easily. If they’ve gone to ground they’re doing it to draw you out.”

“You think they’re Imperial, then?”

“Who else have you pissed off lately?” Cara snorted. “If Gideon survived the crash, or, hell, if another warlord wants in on whatever they’ve got planned for the kid they’re going to try to recoup their losses one way or the other, guild or no guild supervision.”

“Speaking of the guild, just how did your first assignment go?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“You back on Nevarro yet?”

“You don’t tell me where you are and I don’t tell you where I am. Try not to get yourself killed, Mando.”

Din gave her an unseen smirk before switching the comms channel off. It was just about time to consider moving on from this planet. If he could be certain he’d shaken off The Rebel he might even be able to make a stop at Nevarro himself and confirm if Cara was still offworld or not. It might be good to get some backup on this one. 

He padded out of the cockpit and down the ladder to where the kid was playing with a few cut stones and pebbles he had found along the perimeter of the jungles. “Doing alright?” 

The child babbled, swinging one of the pebbles aloft with his claws. “I’m a little bored, too.” Din had no idea if the kid was or not, but he liked to think they were commiserating. Boredom was a dangerous state. Worse than desperation or fear. Boredom made you do something out of necessity, not panic. It kept prey dull and stupid while it gave the hunter all the time in the world. 

There was no way The Rebel was offworld. They were somewhere on this planet. He knew it with confidence because it was exactly what he would have done if the situation had been reversed. 

And, he thought with a tinge of annoyance, it was working. 

***

Din let another week elapse before he moved the Razor Crest closer into the capital city of Myrra for a supply run. If he stocked up on enough fuel cells he could skip over the edges of the rest of the Outer Rim before slingshotting back into the Mid-Rim, and hopefully leading his pursuer on a merry little chase before they recalculated. Or ran out of fuel and were stranded. No chance of the latter happening, Din thought as he adjusted his amban rifle, he never got that lucky. 

Myrra was about as cosmopolitan as it got this far into the Outer Rim. Not like the other settlement, this was a proper city. The markets were crowded by midday, and the streets full of passersby and bala-bala speeders zipping through the tight corridors. The kid squealed with delight at the sound they made as one cut past them. 

Despite the crowds people still noticed a Mandalorian in full beskar armor. But unlike most backwater settlements, no one had the time to stare for very long. Which was exactly what he was counting on. 

With fuel and food secured again, Din wound his way back through the bazaar. It was getting far too crowded to keep an eye on the kid toddling at his side. He bent down to pick up his charge just as blaster fire careened over his head. 

Tucking into an immediate roll to shield the child, Din grabbed his own blaster and scanned the bazaar now in total chaos with citizens running and screaming to get to cover. Only one individual seemed relatively at ease, a tall, green-and-yellow Koorivar in black-slick robes walked forward, rifle held in one hand. 

Definitely not The Rebel. 

Din made a break for it in the confusion, shoving people aside. Shot after shot sped past him. Just how many hunters had the imps hired? 

An abandoned bala-bala speeder lay at the edge of the bazaar. Perfect. He set the kid down behind him as he made short work of hotwiring the speeder. Kicking it to life, he grabbed the child and sped off into the canyons. 

Now there were two hunters after him. This was going to make life extremely difficult. 

The sharp whine of a second speeder on his tail forced Din out of his musings. Of course the Korrivar had his own speeder. Why not? Why not just give them all a Star Destroyer while luck was at it?

The Korrivar hunter shouted something in a language Din had no time to translate. He could lose him in the canyon. He made a sudden left turn and careened close to the jagged rocks before taking another abrupt turn. The Korrivar didn’t take the bait and remained firmly on course. 

Two green, little claws appeared at the bottom of Din’s vision. The kid was reaching for the controls on the speeder, mouth open with laughter. At least one of them found this funny. Kicking the speeder into a higher, more stabilized gear, Din craned his shoulder and fired off two blind shots behind him. 

They kept up the chase through another rocky pass and under a tunneled outcropping. The rock walls were getting closer together. Din skidded the speeder back up one of the walls, threading a risky needle in the eye of one of the ledges. He was going to get them lost, but there’d be plenty of time to find their way back as long as he got rid of the Korrivar. 

The canyon widened out just as another round of blaster fire from the Korrivar’s speeder tore a chunk out of an overhang. 

No choice.

Din floored the speeder, pushing past the debris just before it could crush both him and the kid. He was about to spin the bike around to aim a shot at the Korrivar when a third speeder shot down from the canyon ledge above. It tore straight down the wall at a hellish speed and altitude the bike wasn’t built for. 

“That’s  _ my _ target.”

So this day  _ could _ get worse. Good to know.

The Rebel took advantage of the Korrivar’s shock and fired upon the bike’s engines, sending the unfortunate hunter slamming into the opposite canyon wall in a fiery explosion. The Rebel gave a shake of their head turning their attention back to Din as if they were embarrassed he had to see such a display. “Hey,” they said in that same cordial tone Din was coming to associate them with, “you’re not very good at laying low.”

Before he could respond the air became full of the whines of approaching speeders. “Uh oh,” The Rebel breathed through the respirator. “I think your new buddy had friends.”

There was an advantage to be had here. “So what’s your next move?” he asked, fingers on the trigger of the bike’s blasters. 

The Rebel tilted their helmeted head, seeing four bikes rounding the canyon. “I don’t share rewards. Follow me.”

“You’re a piece of work. Why don’t I kill you here and deal with the others later?”

The Rebel’s answer was calm, collected, but Din picked upon the slight urgency behind her modulated tone and became suddenly aware that respirator was tuning their vocal emotions. Flatlining them. “Because I fight fair,” they pointed to the closing speeders. “They won’t. Help me fend them off and you’ll only have to deal with me. You have my word.”

“The word of a merc?”

“Sure. You were one.”

Time was up regardless and Din had to admit that two sets of blasters were going to be a great deal better than just one in this fight. He kicked the speeder forward, not waiting for the Rebel to follow. And they didn’t, at first, they remained hovering in stasis for another moment until they saw the first speeder gain ground. Then they fired. Three shots each blowing up dust and gravel as it traveled closer to the speeder. Din couldn’t make out anything through the smoke kicked up until the bike went spinning through the air, it’s rider flying out and skidding onto the canyon floor at an angle not conducive to survival. 

“Ok, time to go,” the Rebel said, pulling her bike up and around, shooting past Din without another word. 

He could shoot them now and have done with it. The realization was an odd one. This hunter had given their word they wouldn’t attack until their mutual enemy was destroyed. What better way to demonstrate that honor than by giving him ample opportunity to betray them. 

He’d rather have a clean duel anyway. 

He took his fingers off the trigger. The hunter could live. For now.

They took off round the bend heading for a split in the canyon. The Rebel gave him a signal that they were going to double back and over. Din nodded, pushing on ahead as the Rebel applied the brakes, shooting backwards and taking out another incoming pursuer. Din looked behind to see the Rebel speeding forward through the smoke from the wreck. 

Two down, two more to go. He liked those odds. 

That was before gravity came down and slapped him full in the face. The ground gave seemed to plummet away from him as they went sliding down over a sharp drop-off. The kid gave a startled gurgle and Din tightened his hand over the little one, feeling it starting to slip off. “Hang on,” but he didn’t think the kid could hear him over the rush of air and the whine of the bike’s engines. 

Blaster fire fell from overhead as the pursuers continues despite the steep dive. Static crackled next to him from the Rebel’s vocal modulator and Din wondered if it was muffling out screams of panic. The uncomfortable sinking sensation dissipated as they leveled out again in the depths of the canyon, chase beginning again in earnest. 

“Any idea where we’re going?” Din shouted.

“Nope.” The modulator gave the Rebel a false confidence, “But I think if we—”

They never got further. Din’s eyes widened under the helmet as he saw both Rebel and speeder suddenly sucked down into a gaping vent in the ground, like one of those old factory garbage chutes, except the wrong way around. His own bike gave a groaning screech of warning. He sword, kicking the engines to reverse. He had just enough to switch gears before the vent’s windtunnel pulled him underground too, like a miniature black hole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment or leave a kudos. I'd love to hear from you. The next chapter will see us learning about our mysterious hunter at last!


	4. Into the Depths: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and The Rebel find themselves trapped underground while Din wonders if their unease truce still holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! We've got just soooo much still to come so I hope you continue to enjoy!

They were falling. 

The light disappeared rapidly as they plunged into the tunnel, the bike showered sparks as it sputtered and crashed against the metal of the long drop. At this speed and with no bottom in sight, staying on the bike would be a death sentence. Din ignited the jet pack still on his shoulders and released the speeder, clutching the kid tightly to his chest. The baby laughed against him. 

_At least one of us is having fun_. 

Not for the first time he marveled at the kid’s resilience. Maybe whatever sorcery it possessed caused it to view danger in a different way. The jet pack flickered against him as he tried to gain altitude. The winds were strong. Some kind of a cross breeze from whatever lay underground and the canyon above. He gritted his teeth and fought against it. He jerked downward and hit his back against the metal tube. At this rate he had two options: continue fighting the winds only to crash regardless, or use what remained of the fuel to descend to the ground and find a different way up. 

Din hit the side of the tunnel again as the wind crushed against him. Option B it was. 

He deaccelerated down the tunnel, realizing it sloped gradually to one side and curved into a wider chamber. Once on solid footing again, he shut off the jet pack. The cavern was pitch black. Keeping one hand on the kid he adjusted a headlight. The area itself seemed both natural and manufactured. Wide, carved tunnels with metal encasing and wiring lay surrounded by geological rock formations jutting through old assembly lines. 

“Abandoned factories.”

Din spun about, blaster drawn as he stared into another headlight affixed to a helmet. The Rebel had survived the crash? They were covered in soot and dust and their left arm seemed limp at their side. Still, their weapon was trained on him. “Glad to see you made it,” they said. “Sorry about that. I thought most of the underground factories on Akiva were further south of here. Still, we should be able to get out.”

“We? What happened to that fair fight you promised after we ditched the other hunters?” Din couldn’t quite figure out what this merc’s game was. First they try and sabotage his ship to get him out in the open, next their blasting him out of the sky without a warning, and now here they were trapped underground. It was a perfect opportunity. 

“I don’t want to carry your corpse out through several leagues of tunnels and caves. Besides, between the two of us we’re likely to work out a faster way out. I don’t fancy staying down here longer than I have to,” The modulator crackled as they spoke. “Truce?” They holstered their blaster and held up a hand, though the left one still remained motionless.

“You broke your arm in the fall.”

Static laughter pierced through the modulator. “Was it obvious?”

“I could shoot you now,” Din said matter-of-factly, taking a page out of The Rebel’s playbook. “Leave you here, find my own way out.

“I heard Mandalorians were all proud warriors,” they tilted their head. “You going to shoot an unarmed, injured person in the dark right after they just called a truce? That would be disappointing.”

Din hesitated.

“Or maybe my arm’s not really broken.”

Before he could blink the Rebel had two blasters drawn, one in each hand. Static crackled out of the modulator that covered for the obvious laughter as they quickly resheathed both weapons. “Just kidding. It is broken, but,” they removed their blaster’s holster and fashioned a crude sling. “This’ll do for now.”

Din’s confusion only mounted as they kicked the discarded blaster over to him. “Look, now you have my weapon so you know I must be serious. Ready to get out of here?”

“Are you crazy?” he pocketed the spare blaster.

“No. Just someone who wants to live,” they turned their back on him and stared out at the expansive cavern. From here there were multiple points of exploration. Three tunnels that he could see at ground level, another two were up a ledge that was easily climbable for him at least, his companion would have some difficulty with it. 

“So,” if this was how it was going to be he could play along. He’d had stranger allies of convenience in his life. “Which way do you think?”

“No light, no fresh air, when in doubt go as straight as you can,” The Rebel said, gesturing down the center tunnel with their good hand before walking off.

Well, nothing for it now. Din holstered the blaster. The kid blinked serenely up at him. He shrugged. “Unless you have any suggestions?” he asked. As usual the kid had none. For now they’d follow the Rebel. 

***

“Give me a boost, will ya?” 

Din hoisted the Rebel up onto a high ledge, letting them scramble one-handed to pull themselves upright. The same gloved hand reached back for him to help him up. From their new vantage point it was easy to see where the factory properly began in the caverns. Din looked down at his feet, they were standing on an old assembly line. The rubber padding was wearing from disuse and the elements, but the gears that would have moved it along its track were still visible. 

The Rebel half bounced their way along the track and Din had to be fast to catch the child about to race after them to skip along at their side. He didn’t care if they were allies for now. That kid wasn’t getting anywhere near them. For all he knew they were just waiting for him to let his guard down so they could nab the child, shoot him in the back, and take off. 

He’d anticipated it for hours now. But the Rebel remained affable, and wholly uninterested in harming either him or the child. He couldn’t get a read on them. The vocal modulator and the tinted helmet made it impossible. Maybe this is what everyone else thought of when they saw every other Mandalorian. 

They walked along in silence, the only lights coming from their headlamps. The kid’s excited and curious coos echoed around the caverns. Din looked up at an old, rusted crane that hung loose over the cracked ceiling. Stalactites pierced through the holes in the metal plated roof. In the distance Din could hear the squeaks and flaps of some flying creatures. He hoped that was all that was down here with them. 

He almost jumped backwards when his light refocused ahead of him, reflecting against an unknown, armored silhouette. There, standing in rows and rows were disused, decaying B1 battle droids. Din blinked back the sudden flashfire of explosions across his eyes and stepped carefully around the army of corpse-droids. 

The kid tugged on his leg, a concerned noise leaving its throat. “I’m fine,” he replied absentmindedly, continuing to back up away from the rows of droids before he bumped into something solid and metal. Half expecting it to be the Rebel, Din was wholly unprepared for the sight of something he hadn’t seen since childhood. 

The droid looked smaller than he remembered, but the B2 super droid still appeared as ominous as ever in the dim light, it’s attached blasters were held at the ready, it’s armored head, tucked close to its shoulders. The red light on its breast plate was off. It was _off_ , Din reminded himself as sweat broke out on his, thankfully, hidden face. 

“Told you these were abandoned factories. Shut down after the wars.”

The Rebel’s voice drowned out the screams echoing in Din’s ears and brought him back to reality. They were standing next to him although he could not recall them walking over. They were staring impassively up at the B2 droids. “Kinda sad, all these things down here in the dark? Never even got a chance to do anything?”

“ _Sad?!_ ” Din could not keep the electric anger out of his voice. 

If the Rebel found that unusual they were keeping it to themselves. They only shrugged at his outburst, never taking their eyes away from the droid. “I wouldn’t want to be left in a place like this. All alone.”

There was something to those words their modulator interrupted with static. They sighed and clapped Din on the back with surprising strength. “Guess that’s why I’m keeping you alive so we get out of here, huh? C’mon. Keep moving.”

Din forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. His every instinct screamed at him to burn the entire assembly line to the ground. Blast it right out of existence even if it buried all of them. But in a strange way the Rebel was right. They had been left down here, never living in the first place. IG-11 came painfully to mind at that last thought, but his brain was crowded enough with memories. He gave his head a shake and regained full control of his faculties, resorting to using an old breathing exercise he had learned during his early days of training to keep calm. 

“Take it you don’t like ‘em too much?” The Rebel said tilting their head at the rows of droids they were still following. 

The assembly track was angling upwards which for all intents and purposes had to be a good sign. Going up meant going out. The Rebel seemed to think so as well as they never deviated away from the track. 

“No.”

An uneasy silence reigned after that as they climbed upwards. There must have been hundreds of unused droids down here. Thousands. That was not a pleasant thought. Even as they spiraled ever onward the rows of B1 and B2 droids didn’t change. At least they were deactivated. 

The child giggled at his feet. “What do you have there?” Din asked. 

It was holding one of the B1 heads in its little claws. It toddled over to the edge of the track and launched it off into the darkness, laughing as it clanked against the sides of the cavern on its way down into the blackness. 

“Can we not toss things over into the abyss?” The Rebel asked, fingers twitching for their blaster. 

A red glow spread through the cavern, illuminating everything. 

Din had a blaster out without waiting. “What was that you said about these droids having never seen any action?”

A sickening echo magnified by hundreds caused Din to wince. The familiar sound of gears grinding and droid joints shifting made panic well in his gut. The Rebel had their weapon out too, whirling about wildly as the B2s spun their torsos about and leveled their hand cannons on them. 

“Intruder Alert,” a deep, robotic voice intoned down the assembly line. 

The kid’s ears pinned back in fear, it immediately scuttled behind Din, clutching his leg. “I’m guessing it means us,” Din grunted. 

Blaster fire drowned everything else out. For Din it was easy to dodge the incoming fire. Grabbing the kid in one hand, shooting with the other, he gained height thanks to the jet pack. The Rebel, on the other hand… Din watched as they took a running leap at one of the B2’s, springing forward with one hand, twisting in mid air so that they could angle themselves up onto the second tier track and gain some cover. 

“There’s too many of them!” Din shouted. 

“I can see that!” The Rebel spat back, shooting one B2 unit through the connecting tubing against its torso and legs, the only place where the armor was weakest on those things. Most of the blaster fire bounced right off the damn things. 

“There’s gotta be a way to...I don’t know...shut them down?” He flew in, laying some covering fire so the Rebel could reposition. 

“Oh, do I look like the resident expert? Grenade!” Din had just enough time to fly further afield as the Rebel lobbed an explosive down onto the other track they had just been walking on. 

The resulting explosion sent a blast of heat and fire through the cavern, decimating the immediate droids, but creating a massive gap in the track. Was he imagining things or did he just feel the cavern give a shake? A stalactite fell almost directly on him at the thought. 

“Look up there!” The Rebel gestured with her blaster. “I...I think that’s some kind of central processing station!” 

They were pointing at a boxed unit high up on the ledge closest to the roof of the cave. It would be impossible for the Rebel to climb up there with one hand and pinned down by droids, but for him? “Cover me!” he shouted and angled his flight towards the station. 

The droids aimed their cannons at him, but the older, clunky droids telegraphed a shot a mile away. Din shielded the kid and tucked into a spin, dodging the blasts. From below he saw the Rebel concentrating their fire on one of the B2 units, firing shot after shot directly into the core of the droid until the armor super-heated and melted away. Without skipping a beat they shoved their hand directly into the chest of the droid before it could collapse and pulled on something internally, firing an ion blast directly from the hand canon. Their mask let out a loud crackle of static that Din could hear even from the air as they used the deactivated corpse of the droid to draw fire away from Din. 

Not bad for one broken-armed merc. 

He landed up at the station. A quick assessment proved the Rebel’s instinct corrected. It did looked like some kind of foreman’s station. But the controls were rusted over, and almost everything was already off. What the hell would shut down the whole row of droids if they were already technically supposed to be off? Din flipped a switch that looked like the backup generator’s. A weird relief swept through him as the station lit up and the control panel blinked and beeped to life. 

Ok, step one. Turn on the military droid assembly station. That could only be a good thing, right? Din hoped this didn’t mean he’d just activated some distant row of droids further down the tunnels. Considering where his luck was at now

The panel’s labeling was long ago stripped, so that he could only make out a few letters here and there. Nothing for it. He pressed random buttons and flipped a few switches. Hazarding a glance out the scummed-over window he could see the oncoming red glow moving like a wave over to where the Rebel still fought on. 

“Not to hurry you along or anything but if you could—-” anything else they said was drowned out in static, masking their panic, fury, or probably a combination of the two. 

A crazy idea struck him. 

Oh, no. Absolutely not. He shouldn’t. It could very well bring half the tunnel down on them. 

What was better? Dying by droid or being crushed to death?

Din slammed his hand down on the one button that was clearly labeled: Crane controls. 

From above came a screeching, rusted over monstrous sound that temporarily silenced even the blaster fire. The lurching, ancient metalwork from above shuddered, curled and uncurled...and then careened straight at the assembly line and control’s station. 

Din had just enough time to jet out of the station before it was crushed on impact. Below, the Rebel unstuck their hand from the B2 unit, tossing it aside before reaching for her blaster again, firing shots indiscriminately as they tried to climb higher. 

The crane went tumbling from its rusted perch, slamming into station and track, ripping the gears clean off and causing the line with its many rows of newly activated droids to plummet over the long spiral into the abyss below. The ground gave a sickening roll and the Rebel lost their footing as they ran to avoid the falling track. 

Din was speeding towards them, grabbing them without thinking as the whole assembly line gave way. He shot forward towards one of the smaller, more natural rock tunnels above the now collapsing roof of the factory where the control’s station had been moments ago. 

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of metal scraping against rock, blaster fire from the hapless droids careening towards a more permanent deactivation, and the warning emergency sirens all fading out as they fell into the black. Then there was only the sound of his ragged breath, the child’s panicked coos, and the static modulator from the Rebel who never took their gaze off of him. 

“Why did you do that?” they asked. “Why did you do that?”

They seemed rattled, but not from the fight. Their good hand trembled ever so slightly as they flexed their fingers to still themselves. Even their modulator couldn’t fully flatline their shock at having their life saved.

“We had a truce, remember?” Din slapped a hand across her back in the same mocking fashion they had done to him earlier. “Come on. We still don’t know what else is down here. Eyes sharp. Blasters ready.”

The Rebel pulled their own pistol out absentmindedly, giving him a small nod as if they had been soldiers together from the start. Din set the child down and drew his own weapon, reciprocating her nod. Why had he saved their life? He hadn’t even thought to question why it had happened so fast. He didn’t like the immediate answer that entered his mind. They fought like a warrior. Smart, adaptable, agile. Admirable. He thought back to their words earlier: no one should be left down here alone. 

Brushing the thought aside he gestured with his blaster down the mouth of the damp, rocky cave. “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not bsing about the underground droid factories on Akiva btw. Thanks Wookiepedia for saving my research-crazy ass once again. :D


	5. Into the Depths: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part of the Depths trio! Let's finally unveil a little bit more about our OC, shall we? :)

Heavy, static-filled breaths permeated the cramped air as Din and the Rebel made their way through the tunnel. It wasn’t as wide as the manufactured passegways, and sharp rocks protruded from the walls and ceiling, making the passage that much more harrowing. 

The kid was having an easy time weaving in and out of the small outlet, easily avoiding the rocks. It toddled into the occasional puddle, splashing about in the water before hopping out and trundling onwards. 

The Rebel’s modulator continued reverberating thick, strained breath as they ducked and crawled through the rapidly narrowing tunnel. 

“Were you injured?” Din asked.

“I’m fine,” the Rebel barked, awkwardly shuffling forward while trying not to put any weight on their slung arm. “Just...not overly thrilled about cramped spaces.”

It could be a bluff, Din thought. Why would a merc sent to kill him admit to being further injured after all? This truce only lasted for as long as they both proved useful to one another. Still, as Din watched the Rebel scrabbling through the rocky tunnel their discomfort seemed genuine. They reached a fork in the passage and without missing a beat the Rebel tilted her head to the right. “This way.”

“How can you be so sure?” but the kid was already following along after them. 

“Just a feeling.”

It wasn’t like he had a better idea of which way might lead them out, and crawling through this blasted tunnel left him with little energy to argue. Sure enough, after a few minutes of scraping by they emerged from the crevice into a wider cavern. The Rebel stretched out, “That’s better.” 

They were standing by an underground lake. Strange crystalline structures wove up out of the ground connecting to other crystals growing down from the roof of the cave. All around them was the steady drip of water. It was almost peaceful. 

“Hey, get out of there!” Din shooed the kid out of one of the bigger puddles. “You don’t know what’s in there.”

“Cute kid,” The Rebel remarked. “Worth all the trouble its caused?”

“So far.” Din did not like the way the merc was looking at the child. In all the chaos it had been easy to forget they were still only allies of convenience. The minute they set foot above ground he had to be ready to shoot to kill. This one was crafty. They’d have some kind of plan in mind. 

“Loyalty.” They said the word with extreme derision. The modulator’s cheery disposition somehow made the disgust more evident. 

“I don’t expect a merc to understand that.”

“Nah, I don’t. Loyalty gets ya killed and I like living, thanks,” The Rebel gave a little mock bow, walking backwards while balancing over a natural rock bridge as they made their way across one of the crystal water pools. 

Din swallowed his own venom towards the merc. Time enough to settle things, even if he was itching for that fight now. The water rumbled around them, nearly throwing both him and the Rebel off balance into the pool. Din took a step in front of the child as a vicious water serpent emerged, scaled mouth hissing into the darkness, spiked prongs emerging near its throat. 

The Rebel whirled about, firing off two blaster shots at the thing in quick succession to little effect. The creature gave a nearly silent, high-pitch screech before opening it’s fanged jaws wide and going into a dive directly for them. Din snatched the kid up and bolted to the right while the Rebel went left.

“Hey slimey, down here!” the Rebel made a show of waving their arms about. The creature took the bait instantly and slithered after them. Din fired off his cable, wrapping it around the serpent’s neck. 

In a contest of pure strength Din was bound to lose. Din pulled with all his might. The serpent flared its gills, wriggled, and opened its mouth in a furious hiss as the air was choked from it. “Gotcha, beasty,” The Rebel said, firing another blast down the creatures throat where the shot bypassed the armored scaled entirely.

The serpent let out one long gurgle before going limp. Din released his grip, snapping the cord back into his vambrace. Smoke curled up from the mouth of the beast as it slipped back underwater. “I  _ really _ hate caves, have I said that yet?” The Rebel shuddered, holstering their blaster. 

“Quick thinking,” Din pointed out, wiping water from his beskar and setting a struggling kid back down on the crystal bridge path where he ran off after the Rebel. 

“You, too.”

“Who trained you?”

“Life,” The Rebel’s modulator gave a static laugh. “Not all of us get to be fancy Mandalorian warriors.” 

“You fight smart for a merc. I can only say that about a handful I’ve met. Most are just brute force,” Din replied.

“Is that a compliment?” The Rebel turned about on their heel, hand outstretched at their side as if they were holding the train of an invisible dress and curtsying properly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mando. I’ll still kill you once I see daylight.”

“So...if we emerge and it’s night?”

“Shut up and walk.”

***

Din was starting to lose track of time. It had to have been at least half a day if not more that they were down here. Exhaustion was going to start creeping in soon. He glanced over at the Rebel, still gamely walking on, climbing over the occasional ledge. They didn’t seem to show any sign of fatigue. So neither would he. 

At every turn the merc seemed to know their heading. 

“How do you do that?” he finally broke down and asked as they pointed down a left facing passage. 

“Do what?”

“Decide which tunnel to take? They all look the same to me. And don’t say it’s ‘just a feeling.’” 

“Fine. Air smells fresher down this path. Keep walking in the direction you can feel or smell fresh air and before you know it you’ll be out of any tunnel.”

But the air felt more or less the same to him as they walked into another passage. The crystalline spires had faded away back to granite, and the damp went along with them. Suddenly the Rebel gave a little hop-skip, jumping and pointing with her good hand. “Hah! Do you see that?!” 

Din followed her line of sight towards a distant bright point. “Light.”

“Too damn right! That’s our way out. Charge up your blaster, Mando. I wanna get this over with.”

The Rebel couldn’t see the wry look that passed over Din’s face. They were scraped, bruised, covered in cave-muck, and had one arm in a crude sling, but still they were confident this would be an easy fight. Even after he had beaten them in their last encounter. They took off down the path at double speed. 

It was then the ground rolled under the feet, stopping them dead. 

“Earthquake?” Din hazarded.

The Rebel shook her head. “Maybe. We caused a lot of damage in that factory, some of it was built into the walls of these caves.”

Another roll, this one nearly knocking Din right into the Rebel. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Not needing to be told twice, Din matched the Rebel’s pace. The kid wouldn’t be able to keep up with them at this rate and he looked down to scoop the child up. Only it wasn’t there. Din whirled about, swiveling his headlight to find where it could be. The light fell on the kid as it was trundling over to a small pocket of multi-colored crystals etched into a rockwall. The colors must have caught its attention. 

The cave rumbled and shook, a couple of rocks rolled down from the walls. The shaking grew more violent, throwing Din’s balance off. He saw one of the columns crumbling near the kid even as he ran towards him, arms outstretched.

“Hey kid, look out!”

The Rebel had been further ahead of him and went tearing straight into the child, skidding to the side and forcibly pushing it out of harm’s way as the column collapsed in a shower of rubble. It gave Din enough time to snatch the startled child up in his arms. He pressed himself into a mostly solid wall, throwing his arms up over both himself and the child as the cavern continued to roar and shake, jarring more rocks and boulders loose. 

After a few moments the shaking ceased and Din was able to uncurl himself, brushing off bits of gravel. “That was close,” he said, checking the child over for any injuries. “Don’t wander off like that, ok womp rat?” The kid gave a small babble of understanding, its ears were pointed down in chastisement. 

“I think I owe you some thanks,” Din straightened and turned about, “if you hadn’t been—”

But the Rebel wasn’t standing behind him. There only a pile of rocks and stone, and where his light fell he could see one gloved arm, halfway out of the ruin. Instinct made him dash forward to help, but he slowed as he approached. 

This was a lucky break! If the Rebel was pinned under the rocks they weren’t going to prove a problem anymore. The gloved hand twitched and flexed under the rubble, a barely audible moan coming from underneath. 

He hesitated, reaching out to shift some of the rocks only to pull back. His Creed did not say anything about aiding a known enemy. He already had enough trouble. And this was no helpless babe in a crib. “Let’s go,” he said to the kid. 

The child gave a loud, affronted cry and slapped his tiny claws on one of the rocks. “C’mon,” he urged again. 

The child hit the rocks giving another indignant cry. “Look, I know this is hard to understand, but it’s better this way. Let’s go,” be bent down to take the kid’s hand. 

It wrenched himself out of his grip and slapped the rock again with a little ‘bap’ of insistence. Its eyes scrunched up, insistently, ears wiggling. Din sighed heavily. “Guess you  _ do _ technically owe them a life-debt.” Was he imagining things or did the kid actually give a nod at that?

He had to stop making choices that would get him killed. With a groan of annoyance he grabbed one of the rocks, throwing it off the pile of rubble. The kid’s ears perked up at the action. He did  _ not _ need the validation of a child! But he kept shifting the rubble until the merc was unburied. 

The Rebel gave a gurgling cough. Their helmet was smashed, the respirator broken and leaking air. He reached down to pull it off when he found himself with a blaster aimed at his head. “Don’t...try...it…”

“That thing is going to suffocate you, idiot. You’re not a Mandalorian, take it off.”

It was hard for the Rebel to get words out around the broken respirator. The modulator was busted as well, it gave them a distorted, multi-toned sound. “Why...help?”

“Don’t ask,” Din grunted, hauling the Rebel up over one shoulder and hoisting them out of the rocks. They were surprisingly light. Din carried them into the wider part of the cavern, away from the walls. He couldn’t be sure there wouldn’t be another tremor, but the point of light was so far distant there was no way he could carry them all the way there. He dumped them onto the ground where they gave an audible grunt of pain. 

The wheezing from the respirator was intolerable. “Stay here, I’m going to find something to get a camp built.” Not that there was anywhere the Rebel could go. Din watched in surprise as the kid voluntarily sat next to the merc. They looked over at it through the cracked lens of their pilot’s helmet, but kept their blaster trained on him. 

It didn’t take him long to pull over a few rocks suitable for benches. He made a ring of gravel and stones before setting down a firerod he had in his pack. It wasn’t much and they had no food or blankets to speak of, but at least they could have a little warmth and light while he figured out their next steps. 

The Rebel was in the same position he had left them. As the fire grew a little more substantial they painfully inched their way closer. “Still think you can take me in a fight?” Din couldn’t help but taunt. The Rebel said nothing. 

“Look, you’re gonna need a medic when we get out of here and I...owe you for saving the kid’s life.”

At the mention of the child it put it’s claws around the merc’s arm, blinking serenely up at them. “What’s...it...doing?” 

Oh, he should have known. The Rebel tried to pull back, but was too weak to move. The wheezing in their respirator picked up on their panic. With no more modulator to hide their emotions there wasn’t any static to drown out their small grunts of panic and distress. That kid had too good of heart. The little one’s eyes closed, forehead crinkling up as it concentrated on whatever magic it possessed before it fell backwards with a thump, completely passed out. As usual. Sighing, Din went over to collect the kid, wrapping him in his cloak and tucking him against his arms. He’d sleep for at least a couple of hours now. 

“What?” The Rebel repeated, sitting up, a hand over their chest, feeling down what Din could only imagine had been a broken rib cage a moment ago. “What the—” their broken arm was moving again too and they threw the sling away from them as if it was on fire. They continued to check over their other limbs as if they had all been replaced with prosthetics. Din was almost amused by their shocked antics before remembering the kid had just leveled the playing field for their inevitable fight. 

“What the…” with a low snarl the Rebel tore the broken helmet and respirator off their face. “What the  _ hell did that thing do to me?!" _

He had been expecting a number of things, but not the face that greeted him once that helmet had been removed. The Rebel’s skin was albino, completely devoid of all color, almost translucently moonbeam white against the fire. Her eyes were equally light, nearly the same pale white as her skin save for a few flecks of metallic gray. Short, mussed silver hair fell in front of her face, stopping just under her eyes. Her mouth was curled in an accusatory rage revealing sharp rows of teeth. And without the modulator Din could hear the husky, emotive edge to her voice. 

“It does that,” Din looked down at his charge, bouncing it a little as it slept. “I couldn’t explain how even if I wanted to. But I think it was trying to repay you for saving its life.”

She was breathing hard, fury burning in her unnaturally colorless eyes. She tried to stand but slipped backed down on shaking legs. “Yeah, it can heal, but it can’t restore all your strength. Rest up. Our truce still holds until we reach the surface.” He didn’t need to tell her he almost left her buried under the cave. 

She sat back, propping herself up on one of the rocks, blaster still in hand. “Guess I really have to kill you now,” she said, still breathing hard. “Can’t have you going around telling people what I look like...bad for business.” When she smiled her teeth bared themselves. She must have filed a few of them down to points. He had likened her to a vornksr before, he just hadn’t realized how right he had been. 

“You’re Arkaninan.” He hadn’t encountered many of the elusive people. Most of them weren’t in the guild or in the merc business. Scientists. Usually holed up in labs. 

“ _ No, _ ” the answer was torn from her throat with horrid derision. “I am  _ not _ .”

“Oh,” Din shifted uncomfortably. He could have sworn— “My mistake.”

The merc blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, arms folding over her knees. She kicked out at the busted pilot’s helmet. “Took me  _ months _ to find that. Now what am I gonna use?”

“You weren’t a soldier for the Rebellion?” Alright, he was officially confused. 

The Rebel turned those colorless eyes on him. “You think I look like the ‘sacrifice your life for the Cause’ type? Pff.”

Not Arkanian, not a rebel after all. The woman was as much of a ghost as her appearance. “Then who are you?”

“Is this an interrogation?” The merc raised a silver eyebrow. “Should have left me injured if you wanted some leverage, Mando.”

“It’s a conversation,” Din specified. “Not much else to do while this guy sleeps and you can’t walk.”   


“Well  _ stop _ .” 

No wonder she used a vocal modulator. Her voice gave away absolutely everything. Volatile, brusque, and full of quick emotion. The helmet, too. She radiated disquiet and anxiety from her huddled posture, to her fast flickering eyes and the snapping growl buried low in her voice. Din shrugged. He didn’t need to talk if she wasn’t game. 

The silence was only occasionally interrupted by the tremors in the caverns. Each time one rolled in the merc braced to run, only to uncoil when the tremor rolled past. Din had set up camp in the most central space in the wide tunnel he could think of. Wouldn’t do much good if the entire cave itself collapse, however. He looked down at the sleeping kid. If it didn’t wake up in the next hour he’d have no choice but to take his chances.

In that hour he watched as the Rebel made a concentrated effort to get herself back on her feet. She rose on shaking legs, holding herself against one of the larger rocks. Her knees knocked together at one point and she almost toppled. With a curse she righted herself again and began to hobble around the small camp, stretching her formerly broken arm at the same time. Din had never seen the kid heal more than a few bad gashes and cuts. Judging from how the Rebel was moving, he wondered if she still had a sprain or broken bone or two in one of her legs she was determined to trick him into thinking was also healed. 

“How long have you been a merc?” he decided to try for questions again, his curiosity getting the better of him. She looked young. Not so young as to hint at inexperience—her skills certainly put that debate to rest—but she only had a few faint scars to suggest a full vet in the business. At least what he could see. 

“Still trying?” she scoffed, bringing her left arm around her chest, swinging it out and trying a few experimental draws of her blaster. That was good. Now Din knew she was ambidextrous. Maybe that’s where some of the bravado about their fight had come from. One arm down wouldn’t have necessarily stopped her at all. She exhaled sharply as she came down from the stretch. 

“Fifteen,” she finally said. “Assisted with a crew then, went my own way around twenty.”

“So, how old—”

“Rude.”

He laughed, but fifteen was young for the trade. He’d seen a few younger hunters and merc in his time...most didn’t make it. The kid stirred in his arms and he looked down to see it blink up at him briefly, before rolling over and fitting itself near the crook of his arm and settling down again, fingers curled around the bit of shirt it could find between the plates of his beskar. 

“Time to go, Mando,” the Rebel said, standing over him. 

They had stalled long enough. Din rose to his feet, kicking gravel and dust over the fire to douse it. Shifting the kid in his arms and slinging his amban rifle over one shoulder he fell into step alongside the merc. She was still limping as they walked, and with no helmet on he could see her trying to hide a grimace. 

She wasn’t going to give him much choice, but Din had to admit...he wasn’t going to enjoy what was about to come next. It would have been easier leaving her behind in the rubble. 

“Hey,” his voice was soft through his own modulator. “What’s your name?”

“You gonna tell me yours?” In the silence that followed she smirked, “Didn’t think so.”

The light had been further away than either of them thought. By the time they approached a small opening in the cave the merc was covered in sweat and her limp had gotten worse. Her eyes never lost that determined, focused glare, however. And whatever pain she was in didn’t stop her from slamming her body full force into the rock-covered opening to widen the exit. 

Rubble shifted and spilled outward as they crawled through the opening. Din blinked fast against the light of day. They were on the other side of the canyon now, and the sun was in much the same position it had been when he had been first sucked down through the underground. A day must have passed. 

He pulled out his blaster, leveling it at the woman who was holding her own out at him. With his other hand he held the kid as far back against his armor as he could. The merc curled her fingers around the blaster, her triggerfinger wrapping and unwrapping. Those colorless eyes flashed with merciless certainty. 

He had her. She could fire first if she wanted, it wouldn’t matter. That blaster she was carrying wasn’t strong enough to tear through his beskar. But he’d cut her down in a second. 

Maybe she had noticed the unfavorable odds as well, because to Din’s immense surprise she lowered her blaster. “Get going, Mando,” she said. “Consider this your headstart before I change my mind.”

There was more honor to this merc than met the eye. Din slowly lowered his blaster until he was certain this wasn’t a trap. “This  _ isn’t _ a mercy,” she was very clear to say. “But I owe that kid a debt for what it did. I pay upfront. Next time, no such luck.”

“Noted,” Din holstered the blaster. “Enjoy your deathwish.”

She fired so fast Din had no time to react. The first shot spun off to his left, just singing the very edge of his cape, the second landed right at the tip of his boots, and the last edged so close to the side of his helmet he could almost feel the flash-fire of the shot. His blaster was back out in seconds while she laughed, twirling her weapon and re-holstering it. “Zethu Desh,” she said, turning her back on him and walking away. 

“What?” Din’s voice had a hard bite of steel to it as he absorbed the outrage of the merc’s sudden fire. Was this her idea of a  _ joke _ ?

“My name,” She raised a hand behind her, giving him a mock salute high in the air. “It’s Zethu Desh. See ya around, Mando. Next time I won’t miss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to everyone who is commenting, kudos-ing, and generally just reading quietly from a distance. :) I hope the tidbit about the OC is enough to tide y'all over. This is a story with the slowest of burns so you'll learn more about her in bits and pieces over the course of the full fic. If you're curious about why Din thought Zethu was Arkanian you can check out their wiki entry and it might shed some light on that. Or you can wait. :) Please drop a kudos and/or a comment. This is the last chapter pre-written in my queue so far so it could be a couple of days before another drops. Let me hear from you in the meantime!


	6. Offshoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely kudos and comments! Let's play a game this chapter, it's called guess which obscure and vague cameo character from the films is partially featured here. :D

The Lancer came out of hyperspace in orbit around Numidian Prime. Zethu Desh leaned back against her seat, one arm still splayed out against the controls, one colorless finger taping against the thrusters. 

She had a good feeling about this. 

The green flash of her holoprojector caught her attention. Well, this was going to be an interesting conversation. She flipped open her channels and raised an eyebrow as the blue-gray holo of her patron appeared. 

“Status update.” 

Zethu grinned, showing off her sharpened canines. The prissy little miss in the polished looking Imperial uniform did not seem nearly as amused. “Just got out of hyperspace, a little tired but eh, that’s lightspeed travel for you. How about you?”

The officer sniffed. “You have been out of communication for approximately four standard months. Moff Gideon grows impatient. He wonders if his investment will yield any return.”

Zethu pulled out her vibroblade, polishing it as she nodded along to the Imp’s chastising words. “You never specified a time frame in our deal.”

“It was understood that speed was of the essence.”

“You hired me for a job  _ well _ done, not rushed,” she waved the blade at the holoproj, twirling it between two fingers. “Tell your Moff a good hunt is a long hunt. He wants a sloppy job he’s free to hire any old merc he wants. How did his double dipping with those Korrivars back on Akiva go for him?” Zethu’s voice edged dangerously low. “Yeah, I know he’s hiring more hunters. They ever report back in, by the way?”

The officer shifted on screen unfomortably. “No.”

“ _ No _ ,” Zethu mocked. “Because I vaporized the bastards.”

“Be that as it may, you are being given two months to complete your assignment. If by such a time you are unable to provide results Moff Gideon will recend his contract and with it all promised protections.”   


Her lip curled in a snarl, the blade drawing blood from the tip of her finger. “I’ll get it done.” She wanted to punch the satisfied smile right off the officer’s face at her response. Zethu didn’t wait to hear more, cutting the imp off mid-sentence with a sudden switch of the holoproj. 

She was left alone in the silence of space yet again. The only sound coming from the occasional thrum of the Lancer’s engines. She sheathed her blade, bringing the Lancer in for a landing. That former good feeling was rapidly disappearing. 

It had been three months since her previous encounter with her quarry. Thinking about Akiva only brought on frustration and the urge to slam her head into the side of her ship.  _ You should be dead! _ The thought came unbidden into her mind as it always did. The droids should have killed her, the fall when the factory was caving in should have killed her, the serpent should have killed her, hell, the earthquake practically  _ did  _ kill her. Why had he pulled her out? Zethu shuddered involuntarily. Wrestling with that question just made her feel clammy. 

The ship broke the atmosphere and she piloted her way towards the jungle outpost. It was the only major waystation for miles. She’d set herself up there. Buy a room at one of the seedier dives, get some fuel cells, maybe bet some money on a race or a sabacc game while she scouted and waited. She had been tracking the Mandalorian ever since they had both left Akiva, always exactly one step behind. But his trail led here. As the outpost came into view, Zethu pulled the Lancer down towards the landing platform. 

Engines off, Zethu grabbed a few extra blades and blasters, concealing them along the belt under her long, crimson coat. She hated disembarking without a helmet on, but until she had time to convert a suitable used one as she had the pilot’s she’d have to risk it. By the time she had finished gathering her weapons her former good mood returned. The Mandalorian was definitely going to be here. Her instincts had never let her down before. 

She paid the docking fees and made her way down into the outpost. It was exactly as it always was. Numidian Prime wasn’t nearly as crowded as the joints she’d visited whenever she dared enter Inner Rim space, but it wasn’t exactly a backwater dive either. The denizens were diverse enough that no one took notice of one extra face. Zethu wove her way over to the bar, ordered a shot of something strong, downed in, and remained perfectly perched so as to observe the crowds. 

So far nothing out of the ordinary. A few Rodians were debating something in a rather loud, obnoxious tone, couple of Corellians at the sabacc table—no surprises there—and a few rather out of place Naboo. Zethu couldn’t help but smile to herself at the sight. Probably some sort of delegates from the New Republic here to negotiate with some local crime boss. If she wasn’t on assignment she’d have paid extra credits to be a millfly on the wall for that meeting. 

A flash of silver-light at the edge of her vision banished the delegates from her mind. Even over the music she heard the doors slide open. Zethu saw the brief snatches of a familiar cape leaving the cantina. She was on her feet as soon as those doors shut again, flipping a credit onto the bar for her drink. She counted to five before she exited as well. The outer corridor from the catina was a stacked maze leading to other private areas, clubs, and gambling halls. It also had the nasty reputation for being heavily guarded, Zethu sighed, giving a non committal nod to two of the guards in question standing by the entrance. She couldn’t pull blasters in here. 

Still, she didn’t need to be armed to track, and a single Mandalorian happened to stand out. She kept up a steady distance, her head low. He seemed to be moving with purpose. Zethu couldn’t see the kid with him anywhere. Still, she could deal with it later. 

She followed until they spilled out into a cargo bay rife with workers, droids, and—joy—more guards. Zethu stepped behind a tall pile of crates. Maybe he was just on a supply run. She was about to chance a peak over the crates when a blaster jabbed itself roughly between her shoulder blades. “Make a move, space scum, and you’re dead.” 

***

Finding this contact hadn’t been easy. It wasn’t like he could go around asking for information on sorcery or magic, and he couldn’t risk putting the kid front and center and asking if anyone had ever seen another member of its species. Arranging for a meeting on Numidian Prime was hardly inconspicuous. Din found himself constantly looking over one shoulder. 

_ Just get the info. Get back to the ship. Get out of here.  _

He didn’t want to think about how many potential bounties were right here in the outpost...or potential hunters for that matter. 

A hiss from further into the cargo bay caught his attention. He was surprised to see a young Falleen woman gesturing for him to join her near the base of a freighter ship. “You the Mandalorian I was told to watch out for?”

“You know a lot of Mandalorians?”

The joke skimmed right past the reptilian woman’s head. “This kind of information can get you killed. Even with the Empire gone. The Coreworlds might still have some records, any that weren’t purged by the imps, but I bet the Republic will try and restore anything they can get their hands on.”

“This is a lot of smokescreen for a simple point of contact,” Din said.

“Nothing simple about it,” the Falleen blinked her double eyelids. “You’re asking about the Jedi—”

Blaster fire cut short anything else the Fallen was about to say. Her green skin paled a little before she turned and darted out of the cargo bay before Din could stop her. Damnit it! That was barely anything! 

A pile of crates spilled out onto the bay and one pale white figure went tumbling into them. The figure, a man, stumbled backwards on his hands, looking up at his assaulter. And there, standing with two blasters aimed for the man’s head, and with that all-too familiar vornskr snarl was Zethu Desh. 

They locked eyes for a second and Din could see the barely concealed frustration at having been noticed. She turned her attention back to the man—clearly of similar race—she had on his hands and knees. 

“That was a mistake, Atan,” she said coolly, sucking down her anger, shaking silver hair out of those strange, colorless eyes. 

Before he could get involved, Din saw two more cloaked and hooded figures jump Zethu, each grabbing an arm. He assumed they were both outpost guards before an elbow to the face tore loose their hood revealing another albino-white face. “Mistake’s all yours, traitor,” they hissed. 

“You’re not having a good day.” He figured if she’d already seen him there wasn’t much for it by enjoying her abject humiliation.

“I’ve had worse,” she grunted before ducking under her two captors, smashing the instep of one and ramming her elbow once again to the un-hooded one’s nose causing them both to release her. “Now what the _ hell _ are you three doing here?”

“We live here,  _ petrosa _ ,” the man on the floor spat.

Din didn’t have to speak the language to know whatever word the man hurled at Zethu was an obvious insult judging from her mild wince. “Atan saw you disembark at the landing bay,” another woman continued, rubbing blood from her face. “Figured we’d never get another chance.”

“For what?” Zethu actually laughed, swiveling around to keep her blasters trained on all three. “Saving your damn lives?”

“For killing my brother, you fucking traitor!” Atan shouted. “We shouldn’t have let you off that ship alive. We should have thrown you from the airlock!”

“Hindsight’s a real bastard,” Zethu mumbled as her eyes narrowed darkly. “You didn’t need to approach me. I wasn’t here for you. Any of you. In fact, I had forgotten all about you lot. Thought you’d do the same with me. Now just...back off.”

Din saw Atan reaching for a hidden blaster in his coat. He pulled out his own but the smoldering hole blown wide open through Atan’s chest happened faster than Din could have prevented. One of his companion’s, the bloodied woman began screaming a horrible grief-stricken wail. Zethu turned on her like chain lightning, leaving her body smoking on the floor. The last of her would-be attackers turned and fled, hood thrown back revealing the same white skin, grey eyes wide with fear. Their body hit the floor before they could get more than three paces. 

All activity in the cargo bay ceased as Zethu leveled her blaster back on Din. Her expression was cool, but Din saw a startled, far-away look in their depths. “You didn’t have to kill them.” 

“They interrupted me,” Zethu snapped. 

“They were your kin.”

“I have no kin. And in a second your opinions won’t matter much.”

“WEAPONS ON THE GROUND!”

Right on time the outpost guards came crashing into the cargo bay, rifles drawn and circling the both of them. Zethu’s fury never abated, and Din saw her making the same mental calculations on how fast she could take them out as he was currently doing. He’d never got a shot off with this much firepower trained on him. He was willing to bet neither could she, not even for all her preternatural speed. He must have guessed right as Zethu lowered her blaster and raised her arms in surrender. 

With reluctance, Din did the same. There’d be an opportunity later, perhaps with not quite as many blasters trained on him, to make a break back to his ship. 

“Alright, fall in line, you’re coming with us.”

Without option he and Zethu were corralled into the center of the guards’ flank and marched out of the bay. Din couldn’t help but look at the still smoking bodies left forgotten on the floor. Blood still dripped down the woman’s face from where Zethu had punched her. Her eyes were wide, staring, frightened. 

Din had thought they’d be led to some holding cells. A quieter corridor at least where he might be able to gain the upper hand. He had no doubt Zethu would at least work with him until they were out of sight from the guards where they could settle things, but instead they were taken to an even more heavily guarded location. 

They boarded a lift and shot up to the upper decks of the outpost. “Ten credits they throw us off,” Zethu whispered out of the corner of her mouth. He didn’t know how she could joke around so soon after murdering three of her own in cold blood. 

Pushed forward they were taken into a small, well-furnished antechamber. A middle-aged human woman sat at a rather starkly appointed desk, her dark brown hair pulled up in a loose ponytail. She wore a cleanly pressed simple work dress and for all accounts looked like a glorified clerk. But years spent working with the underworld had taught Din not to take appearances at face value.

“So, a Mandalorian bounty hunter and an Arkanian Offshoot merc stroll into my outpost and begin shooting up my workers,” the woman spoke with a clipped accented Corellian and did not look up from her datapad as she typed. “What a strange day this is turning out to be.” 

Offshoot! The species name hit Din like thunder.  _ That _ was why Zethu had been so adamant about her not being Arkanian. 

“Mandalorian, you seem to be in high demand these days with the remnants of the Empire. One does here so many rumors in this part of the galaxy. And you, Offshoot, wanted for acts of murder, terrorism and sedition by the Arkaninan Dominion itself.”

“What do you want?” Zethu cut right to the point. “If you wanted to kick us out or kill us your guards could have done that already.”

At that the woman did look up, smiling through lips painted a bright crimson. “You killed three of my people.”

“They attacked me first.”

“Be that as it may, I can’t be seen as letting you walk out of here unpunished. Bad for business.” She folded her hands over the desk. “Mando, I’m aware you did not cause this unfortunate disturbance, but as I lose money by the second letting you sit here without me putting in one, short, call to certain associates of mine I think you’ll agree to listen to this proposal as well, yes?”

Din gave a curt nod. 

“Good!” The businesswoman had a pretty smile. Disarming. Din wondered how many unwitting people she had led to their deaths with it. “I have an ex-client of mine currently missing in action. To put it bluntly, a runaway. Went off to join the Rebellion thinking that might by him some cover, and it certainly did. But the war is over and I’m coming to collect. An absolute genius when it comes to hacking and explosives. I’ll pay half for the body, full for return alive. 2,000 credits.”

Zethu gave a disinterested snort at the amount. 

“2,000 credits,” the woman continued without a twitch of her smile. “And your lives.” She stood up and approached Zethu, pressing the tip of her datapad stencil into Zethu’s throat. “This stencil was a gift, you see there’s a lovely little secret compartment here full of Synox poison. If you don’t agree to my  _ more _ than reasonable terms, we can always conclude our business early.”

Zethu swallowed uncomfortably. “Alright! Alright!” The Corellian shoved Zethu’s head away from the stencil and began walking back to her desk. “But I want it in writing!”

“Of course,” the woman sounded affronted. “What do you take me for. I’ll have a notified certificate sent to both of your ships along with your target’s information and last known location. Happy hunting.” With a wave of her hand they were both escorted from the antechamber. 

“Looks like I can’t get rid of you,” Din remarked as they made their way back down the lift. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Zethu glowered. “Let’s just get this over with and get back to killing each other, agreed?”

“Agreed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get it? Give me your best guess in the comments. Seriously, the descriptions were very vague. And also hope you're still enjoying the story, this next arc is going to provide us with a lot ye ol' fashioned angst.


	7. Vornskr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't think I'd leave y'all hanging an entire weekend without an update did ya? :) Thanks so much again for all the comments and kudos. I hope you continue to enjoy!

“Tell me again why we’re stopping in this hellhole?” Zethu asked as she stepped off the ramp to her Lancer. 

Din leaned against the Razor Crest’s own landing ramp waiting for her. There was a viciousness in her mannerism that seemed heightened now. When they had last been partners of convenience she had carried herself with an almost arrogant, casual confidence—cracking jokes, teasing their inevitable fight. 

“I have a contact who’s ex-Rebel. I don’t care what intel that Crimson Dawn boss gave us, I’m not flying Corewards until I know more. Besides, ” he gestured down to where the kid was hiding behind his legs. “Can’t exactly take this one into a firefight.”

“Guess not,” Zethu agreed, staring harshly down at the child. It made a gentle gurgle of recognition at Zethu, but her expression never shifted. “Fine. Let’s get this done,” she ran a check of her weapons on her belt, sheathing a few extra vibroblades into hidden pockets on both her boots. 

Nevarro’s outpost was not exactly large or exciting, but Din guessed even an outlier merc like Zethu would have made a few stops here in her time. Judging from how she never glanced around at the buildings or its denizens, he supposed he was right. It might be a mistake to bring her here, but he didn’t have much choice. Crimson Dawn’s power may be fading in terms of the larger underworld clans in the galaxy, but their reputation was well earned. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that if they didn’t go through with this mission the fallout would be swift and bloody. He already had to contend with the imps, and if this hunt meant the worst of his pursuers would be within eyesight for a few solid weeks, well...at least he could check one less worry of his list. 

Those concerns were temporarily shunted to the side as Din caught sight of Cara Dune exiting the tavern. He grinned under the helmet at the scowl she wore on her face as she stomped over to him. His hand was out to clasp hers when she sucker punched him on the shoulder. “What the hell?” she said. “Crimson Dawn now? You’ve got the imps out for your blood and you go and get yourself involved with  _ Crimson freakin’ Dawn _ ?”

Zethu’s frame shook with low, growling laughter. “Nice aim,” Din rubbed at his aching arm. “And it wasn’t planned.” 

“You must be the contact Mando spoke of,” Zethu said, head cocked to one side appraisingly. 

The teasing brawling attitude melted off of Cara as she looked over at Zethu. “Is this the merc that says she’s gonna kill you?” she asked quietly. 

“Yup.”

“Any reason why we shouldn’t kill her first?” Cara’s hand went to the blaster at her hip. 

“I wouldn’t.” Zethu’s voice was matter-of-fact, but the threat was there. She never reached for her own weapon.

“That’s funny, cause I don’t see a reason to let you fly out of here alive. We,” Cara gestured to herself and Din, “could just as easily handle the mess you made.”

There was a tense silence for a moment before Zethu slowly smiled, revealing the sharpened points of her teeth. “I think I’m going to like you.”

Din only shrugged in response to Cara’s nonplussed reaction and waved Zethu on ahead to the tavern. Zethu stuck her hands into her jacket pockets and walked on in—backwards, of course. The smile still partially hovered on the corner of her white-gray lips, but it never quite reached her eyes. 

“Ok, what’s the plan here,” Cara asked as soon as Zethu was out of earshot. 

“Complete the job. Get Crimson Dawn off my back. Get some credits out of the arrangement?”

“No, you stupid spacejocky, about the merc!” Cara shoved him. “It’d be easy for us to take her down here. She’s on our turf. Karga could even arrange something.”

“She’s smart, Cara, I think she’s known we could try something like that since she landed with me. Besides, I promised a fair fight. Let’s just get that intel. One step and a time.” Din made his way forward to the tavern. 

Zethu had already gotten a booth and a drink. She was surveying, he knew the look. By now she’d have picked out the best exit, the best cover if things turned into a fight, and the best diversion if she needed to make a sudden escape. It’s what he would have done. She could have refused coming with him to Nevarro. That one sole thought kept him from blasting her where she sat. She could have rendezvoused with him later, but she came anyway knowing she could be walking into a trap. 

He and Cara sat opposite Zethu and Cara pulled out an old datapad. “Gedos Sal,” Cara said. “Now I don’t know the guy that well, but he ran some codes for the rebellion. Shut down a lot of TIE-fighter factories and could get intel no one else could. Always knew he had a bit of shady history but who doesn’t? If he’s run to Coruscant its as decent a place to hide in plain sight.”

Din picked up on the uncomfortable shift in Zethu’s posture. He looked down at the grainy image of Gedos on the datapad. Sometimes it could be hard to deal with near-human species on pictures alone, but it struck him on closer inspection that the white of the background screen almost bled into the skin, and the eyes while he had thought discolored and clouded on his own holoprojector on the Razor Crest, were actually of the same quality of Zethu’s. 

“He’s an Offshoot.” 

Again, that shift of discomfort. “Yeah,” her voice was flat. 

“You knew him?”

“Long time ago.”

“Least that explains the Dawn boss’ snap decision to send you. She just watched you gun down three of your kin, probably figured you’d be good to go for more.” It was a cruel thing to say, but even so Din was surprised that he managed to strike a clear nerve. Zethu’s eyes bored into him. She stood up from the booth suddenly, knocking back the rest of the drink in one go. 

“So that’s it? We good?” She barked. 

“If you want my opinion,” Cara continued, ignoring the outburst. “He’ll most likely being near the tech centers. No idea what he did after the war, but he’s got no reason to run from the Republic. My best guess is he’s still working for them doing much the same he always did. Running codes, and intel on any remnants of the Empire in the Coreworlds. He probably knows you’re coming. If a hit was put out, stuff like that has a way of making its way down the line.”

“Thanks,” Din said, sliding out of the booth. “Oh and one last thing. Could you watch after the kid?”

“You know I’m no good with that kid stuff,” Cara shook her head. 

“C’mon. It would only be temporary. Besides it likes you.”

She gave a grunt that Din took for a reluctant yes. Zethu was quiet as they left the tavern, as if she was still waiting for the ambush. “You don’t have to do this,” Din didn’t know why he said that, maybe her discomfort was annoying him. 

She looked at him as if he was crazy. “I don’t much care one way or the other. It’ll give me some extra credits.”

“You care that little for your own people?”

“They care little enough for me,” she tossed her hair out of her eyes as a hot wind from the lava fields blew through the outpost. “Why? You stupid loyal to every Mandalorian you run into? Not that there are many these days.”

Din put out a steadying hand on Cara’s shoulder even as the urge to punch the merc rose in his blood. Zethu looked completely unphased. “I look out for myself. I don’t mind being judged for it, because it’s the truth and am still alive because of it.” She stuffed her hands back into her pockets and turned her back on the both of them, heading for her ship and called out over her shoulder. “Maybe I could have banded together with the rest of my kind, done some kind of grand stand against our Arkaninan overlords. That would have really shown ‘em, huh? Then I could be dead like the rest of your Mandalorians.”

“Better dying like a warrior than living like a coward.”

That stopped her cold. Din vaguely became aware that Cara was frantically asking what he was doing, but the blood was pounding in his ears. Zethu craned her head around, one colorless eye glaring at him through the shifting silver of her hair. “I’m not a coward.”

Din wanted to laugh at that. Any honorless, kin-slaying, petty murderer like her was a coward. She gave him no time for any retorts. That vornskr snarl was back on her face as she drew both her vibroblades and launched herself at him. Din easily dodged out of the way seeing Cara draw her blaster. “No!” he managed to shout. “She’s mine.”

He’d had enough. No more truces, no more assignments, more looking over his shoulder for a cowardly merc who always managed to turn tail when they could face off in a fight. He’d kill her now. She wore no armor but her crimson leather jacket and pilot’s gear. She had a blaster on her hip but favored her blades. Smart. The beskar would catch most of her shots anyway. All he had to do was outlast her onslaught. 

And, stars, she was fast! She charged him without a thought, feigning to the left before rising like a lightning strike, her blade clanged against his pauldron. “I’ve killed a lot of people before,” she hissed as she passed him, “but never a Mandalorian.”

A blow to her stomach sent her skidding across the dust. A crowd was forming and Cara stood, grim-faced on the sidelines. The punch didn’t keep the merc down for long. Din somersaulted under her blade swing and cracked another punch to her jaw. She fell backwards, but too late, it was a controlled move. She pulled into a cartwheel, and Din actually felt a red line of pain where her blade nicked between his pauldron and vambrace.

They stood sizing one another up, walking circles around the other. A thin trickle of blood trailed down Zethu’s lips and she looked in satisfaction and the red dripping onto his beskar. He was going to wipe that look off her spacescum face. But, Din had to admit as she readied herself for another strike, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as he first thought.

***

_ Breathe _ .

Din swung a punch and sent Zethu to her knees. 

_ Just keep breathing.  _

Exhaustion had burrowed down deep into every bone in his body. Blood dripped from numerous gashes where Zethu’s blade had found gaps in his amor. The merc stood ragged before him, circling, blood falling into the dust, lurid purple bruises splashed across her albino skin. She ran at him. Din gritted his teeth as her blade tore another opening in his skin, but she was losing ground. He grabbed her, glove wrapped around her face and head and slammed her into the dirt, bringing his vambrace into her chest. Air wheezed from Zethu’s lungs and Din was certain he felt a rib give against his armor. He followed it up with a downward strike of his own vibroblade, but he struck only hard ground as she rolled to the side. 

When they had started this brawl the sun had been high in the sky. Now darkness was closing in on the outpost.  _ Why didn’t she stay down? _ Zethu vaulted back onto her feet, one hand lightly pressed against her injured rib cage. Determination show through her eyes and Din found himself regarding her as a wild animal. Survival was the only thing that mattered. And bringing down her prey. He remember her in the caves on Akiva after the earthquake. Bloodied, broken, and still ready to face him in a fight at the end of the tunnel. 

She tried another run at him, but Din lay cover with a blast of fire from his flamethrower causing Zethu to stagger back away from the heat. That was probably the last of the fuel. He stared across the fighting pit they had created to see where his blaster lay after Zethu and scrambled like a mad creature to disarm him. 

As if sensing his next move Zeth charged him before he could roll to grab his blaster. With a surge of unexpected strength she practically leapt on him, gripping him on either side of his neck before smashing her own head into his helmet. Din heard the sickening crunch as Zethu’s nose broke. Blood consumed his vision, and with a weak laugh Zethu swiped one hand across the blood, marring his visor entirely.

Din stumbled backward, blinded. Was she crazy? Using her own blood to gain the advantage? If he wasn’t the direct target of Zethu’s wrath he might have even found the move admirable. His world had gone entirely red. He could see the silhouette of his enemy standing in front of him even if he could not make out much more than her legs. He tried to frantically wipe the blood clear of his vision but his efforts didn’t help much. “Gotcha, Mando,” Zethu gurgled as he was grabbed roughly by the throat and slammed up against a wall. 

Just because he was blind didn’t mean he was helpless. Din backhanded wildly and was rewarded with a solid impact and a thin cry. He hoped he had hit her broken nose. Relying on touch instead of sight, he reached out and grabbed Zethu by the collar of her jacket before she could fall away from him. He let the momentum carry him down onto the ground, pinning her underneath him.

For a heartbeat there was just the sound both their ragged breathing. Din could not see her fully, the parts that he could bathed her in a bloody red light. “You’re dead, Offshoot,” he panted, pressing his blade to her throat. 

“So are you.”

That was when he felt the sharp tip of a vibroblade nudge just under his breastplate. He wouldn’t have time to pull back, even if he cut her cleanly across the throat she’d still have half a second reaction to stab him through the gut. Din’s eyes went wide. He heard something echo with a crack and he half expected to feel pain blossom through him. But it never came. The thin pinprick of the vibroblade left him as Zethu’s arm went limp and flopped into the dust. 

Din looked up, startled to see Cara Dun standing over them both, her rifle parallel with Zethu’s head as the merc lay unconscious. “I had just about enough of that,” she said.

He pulled himself off of Zethu, sitting backwards on the ground, breathless. He tried to summon up the words to...what? Thank his friend? Taunt her for interrupting his fight? His vision swam and not from the blood obscuring his visor. Every gash and cut from Zethu’s knife  _ throbbed _ with sudden agony as the adrenaline left him. He collapsed backwards and let darkness overtake him. 

***

She was swimming through a thick, black, inky ocean. Somewhere far above Zethu felt the idea of pain in all of her limbs. Her face felt like it was on fire, but down here in the depths it was muted. She took a deep breath through heavy lungs, knives stabbed into her as her chest rose and fell. 

That was when she felt it. 

She wasn’t certain what  _ it _ was, just that she was not alone here in the dark. It was far off, distant, but she felt it like a thrumming in her bones, like a ringing in her ears. And whatever it was, it had  _ noticed _ her. 

And it was coming. 

Zethu awoke with a jolt and immediately wished she hadn’t moved. Pain crashed over her in sudden waves. She blinked open eyes in a room that was entirely too bright for its own good even with the one window. She tried to sit up and regretted it. Her ribs screamed in pain even with the bacta patch draped across them. Her face too, she pinched the patch across the bridge. Someone at least had set the break.

Memories of the fight came flooding back. If she was alive then that would mean—! She tried to roll over off the cot, but was stopped by a familiar figure sitting up in a chair by the door. 

“Hey there.” 

The Mandalorian’s voice was a mockery of her own first greeting towards him and Zethu flopped back onto the cot with a disappointed sigh. “You’re still alive?”

“Just lucky that way.”

She could see bandages poking out from under the beskar. There was no way he was in better shape than she was. Zethu groaned again as she made herself sit up to spite him. “So now what?” just that amount of energy left her drained. “You here to finish the job?”   


He regarded in silence and Zethu did not like his scrutiny. She couldn’t see his damn face, but she didn’t need to.  _ What the hell was up with this man? _ Most marks wouldn’t hesitate to get the drop on their hunters like this. She was without weapons, without strength, and totally helpless. All he had to do was pull the trigger on one of his blaster, strangle her with one hand, stab her in the heart, and it would be over. 

“Why didn’t you use your blaster?” he asked, breaking the tense silence. 

“What?” If this was his way of mocking her, she didn’t care—she’d make herself be ready for round two if she had to. 

“In the fight. You had your blaster. All you needed to do was use it once you closed the gap between us in the fight. Why didn’t you?”

Zethu raised an eyebrow. “Any fool can shoot a blaster. You called me a coward. When I kill you, Mando, I’ll do it with my bare hands.”

He rose from his chair and Zethu’s breathing picked up. There was no escape. She didn’t have enough energy to get to her feet no matter how much she willed her legs to work. She didn’t want to die like this. She didn’t want to die  _ at all _ . The Mandalorian stalked over to her bedside and she closed her eyes with a hiss. If this was going to happen she hoped it was quick. 

A weight fell upon her injured chest and Zethu blinked open her eyes to see that the Mandalorian had placed her two vibroblades atop her. Bewildered she looked up into that masked face. “Why?”

“You’re not a coward, Zethu Desh. Rest. We’re leaving for Coruscant tomorrow at first light,” he paused as he made his way to the doorway, turning back to face her. “Don’t die before I get a chance to kill you again.”

Then he just...left her. Unharmed. Zethu’s breathing steadied as she collected the blades. She couldn’t, for the life of her, understand this particular mark. He was...honorable, she grudgingly admitted to herself. And no one had gone toe-to-toe with her in a ring for as long as he had. The memory of his blade at her throat rubbed uncomfortably against her. He had nearly had her. Yet, how was she still alive? 

The thought of his pity or mercy made her distinctly angry. She had no time for either. Prey was prey. It was kill or be killed in this galaxy and if that fool Mandalorian was thinking he could get the drop on her he had another thing coming. 

She rubbed the hilt of her blades together, frowning. Something felt off. The weight from one of the blades was heavier than they should have been. She examined the odd vibroblade and felt a leaden weight crash into her stomach. It wasn’t her knife that he had given back to her.

It was the Mandalorian’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really a ship if one of them doesn't try to stab the other, I ask you? :D If you're enjoying the story so far feel free to drop a comment or leave a kudos. I read all the comments and try and reply when I can. If you're curious about where else to find me I'm under the same username on Tumblr! Say hi!


	8. Judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Juggling writing + full time job is oh so fun.

Zethu was still expecting a trap.

She had raised all kinds of hell when the Mandalorian had stated point blank they’d be taking his ship and leaving her’s behind. But in the end she relented. It made a kind of sense she didn’t much feel like arguing over. Two ships were always more noticeable than the one. Besides if the Mandalorian  _ didn’t _ intend to take her back to Nevarro to claim what’s hers, she could always kill him. 

Zethu shifted herself awkwardly into the seat behind the pilot’s chair. Her ribs hurt. Her face hurt. Her  _ bones _ hurt, but she kept her mouth shut tight. Maybe the bounty hunter was just waiting until they were in deep space before blasting her out the airlock. Maybe he was waiting for her to let her guard down just long enough to slip a vibroblade between her cracked ribs. She fidgeted, hating everything about this entire situation. 

The Mandalorian seemed oblivious to Zethu’s distrustful stares boring into the back of his helmet. He took them up and out of Nevarro’s atmosphere and Zethu gave one last mournful look through the viewport at her lovely Lancer. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when they reached the relative quiet of space. 

The Mandalorian began punching in the coordinates in the nav computer to make the jump to lightspeed. Zethu braced herself as space warped around them. Normally she enjoyed that initial rush, the flow of energy as light and time distended and contracted. Now all she noticed was how it aggravated her injuries. 

She’d be trapped on this ship for at least a day. 

No way out. 

Something moved against her leg. Zethu jolted and immediately regretted the action, holding her side. She tried to lean forward to see what had brushed against her, seeing one tiny green claw batting at her calf. With one eyebrow raised she reached down and was rewarded with a childish giggle as she held the kid up by the collar of its little brown robe. “Don’t look now, Mando,” Zethu snickered, “but we have ourselves a stowaway.”

Zethu laughed at the double take the Mandalorian immediately performed. “What the—you’re supposed to be with Cara!”

The child offered up what Zethu was certain was an articulate excuse, but alas, it was in baby nonsense. She set the child down on her lap. “Sneaky little bug, aren’t ya?” 

“Get down from there.” It was  _ extremely _ satisfying watching him gesture for the kid to leave Zethu’s lap. 

“Aw, I’m not about to hurt the kid.”

“Now,” the Mandalorian clarified. 

Balancing itself precariously the kid hopped down from Zethu’s lap, trundling over to the Mandalorian and hopping up onto the console instead. Still chuckling to herself, Zethu cautiously stood up from her chair, stretching out bruised muscles. The Mandalorian was mumbling quietly to the kid, huffing something about “what am I going to do with you?” and “Cara is gonna lose it.”

So she was surprised when he suddenly snapped his attention back to her as she made her way out of the cockpit. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh? Clearly not out into space?” With that she dropped down the ladder into the ship proper. 

It wasn’t much. Neither was her ship either if she was being honest. She tapped a few slats and prodded obviously sealed closet and storage spaces. Punching a few buttons revealed a veritable armory. She whistled as she surveyed the blasters before the doors were suddenly shut in her face. 

The Manadalorian was at her side, kid swaddled in one arm, the other jabbing accusingly at her. “Don’t touch anything.”

Zethu backed off innocently enough, slumping down and sitting up against the opposite paneling. The kid squirmed out of the Mandalorian’s arms and went toddling back over to her. It seemed to be interested in examining the buckles on her boots. “You know I have no idea why the imps want this little bug. Gonna be honest though, they also failed to tell me I’d be going up against a full blown  _ Mandalorian _ when I took the job,” she grinned. “After Raydonia I upped my price. They were...not happy.”

“Who do they say you’d be after, then?” he leaned against a crate and even through the helmet Zethu could tell he was watching the kid closely. 

Zethu shrugged. “Just some hunter who reneged on a deal. Think they were afraid standard mercs would back out if they knew. You guys do have a bit of a reputation, you know.”

“Still gonna collect?” 

“Yup,” Zethu said without a moment’s hesitation. “I  _ also _ have a bit of a reputation, Mando,” she winked. 

“So,” the man crossed his arms, “what’s the plan for Coruscant? I wouldn’t advise going in blasters hot.”

“Hah! Not unless we wanted to get arrested by the Republic. No, I got a little germ of an idea. If your friend’s info was correct and you can get me into the tech center I might be able to draw out Gedos without firing a shot. At least until we get him somewhere more secure.”

She ran a gloved finger down the kids’ long ear. It giggled, wiggling its head and playfully batting at her hand. She didn’t much want to think about Gedos Sal, or what was going to happen on Coruscant. 

“The other Offshoots who saw you wanted you dead,” The Mandalorian pointed out. His modulator gave him a similar flat affect to his voice as Zethu’s own once did, but he hadn’t put in any of the regulators she had done to tune the emotion out. She heard his curiosity...tinged with a bit of disgust. Honestly, his judgement of her life was getting tiresome. 

“Gedos won’t.”

_ Your parents would be proud of you.  _ She was eight years old again, dirt-faced and bloodied as she kneeled, bent over in electro-stocks, hands and neck shackled by the sparking blue electricity.  _ Remember you’re the best of them. _

“His mistake,” Zethu snapped. “It’s to our advantage. We get him secure, we get him back to Numidian—”

“And then we settle this.”

Zethu stared hard at the tinted visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “Yeah. Once and for all.”

***

Din couldn’t remember the last time he had been near Coruscant’s orbit. Flying into the heart of the former Galactic—now Republic—space was not the norm. Sure, hunters made the trip all the time in search of marks and the galaxy’s biggest city had a fairly lucrative underworld, but it was no place for a Mandalorian. He glanced over his shoulder at his reluctant companion and saw Zethu Desh looked equally concerned as she stared hard out the viewport. She probably wouldn’t want to come this close to the Republic either. 

The Crimson Dawn operative had called her a terrorist in Arkanian space. It didn’t take a particularly good imagination to wonder what she could have done to be slapped with that crime. Sedition against her own people and murder were the other charges leveled against her. She clearly had little love for her kind. But whatever her flaws at least she fought like a hell of a warrior. He could respect that.

Din brought the Razor Crest in for a landing and his dislike for Coruscant rose tenfold. There were no good hiding places to land out of sight. The massive city rose up before them complete with traffic, skyscraping spires, and neon sign postings. He swore under his breath.

“Head out to the Works,” Zethu mumbled into her hand. Her face was pressed into her palm as she rested facing the viewport. 

“The what?”

“Abandoned factory district. ‘S quiet there. We’ll have a bit of a walk towards the city proper but it’s better than paying Coruscant landing prices. Less noticable too. You wanna go east from here.”   


Staring at her would not determine if she had an ulterior motive for the landing site, and Din didn’t have another viable solution to refute her. Shrugging, he took her advice and headed east, keeping his altitude as high as he could to avoid possible sensors or trackers. Who knew what the New Republic had installed in the atmo to count incoming ships. He traveled at Zethu’s directions until the skyline leveled and a trail of black smoke entered the sky. 

Fire and ash gushed from pipes across the surface and rusted over factories dotted the landscape. Din took the Razor Crest in lower, doing a quick scan and sensing no living heat signatures. In the end, he decided on landing the ship in the shadow of one of the larger factory shells. There was plenty of flat available surface nestled between the abandoned structure and the massive pipes. 

“Alright,” Din swiveled in his seat. “ _ You  _ are going to stay here in this time!” He pointed at the child who had once again, despite his insistence, found its way onto Zethu’s lap. 

“Sure, keep the kid in the ship on one of the biggest cities ever. It’s not like its known to wander off, right? That sounds like a great idea,” Zethu mocked. 

She had a point. He hated that. “I’m not taking the kid into a fight.”

“If we do things right there won’t be much of a fight,” Zethu stood up, gently placing the kid back on the ground. “The little bug’ll be fine. More than I can say for leaving it here on the hope it doesn’t disappear without a trace.”

“Didn’t seem to care for the kid’s well-being when you were trying to blast us out of the sky months ago.”

Zethu only shrugged, a sharp-toothed half grin appearing on her face. “Not trying to do that today, though am I? Honestly, Mando could we try and stay in the moment?” She dropped out of sight down the ladder. 

There wasn’t much for it. He gathered his weapons and the child and disembarked. Instantly, Din was glad he hadn’t left the kid behind. The Works were a vast, ashen-covered district with trap after trap for a small womp rat like the kid to get lost in. And it had a terrible habit of trying to sneak out. They’d have to work on that. 

Zethu hadn’t been kidding about that walk back to the city. Without a speeder or an air taxi it took the three of them well into the early evening to bridge into the underbelly of the city proper. “How long do you think a work day is here?” Din asked. “Any chance of Gedos still being at the tech centers by the time we could reach them.”

“Fair point,” Zethu shrugged. “Luckily we got plenty of options for a stake out.”

“What? No. I’m getting us a speeder and we’re heading back to the ship.”

“Like hell we are!” Zethu laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather sleep in a bed.”

“Zethu!” but she was already walking away, hands in pockets. “Zethu!” with another curse he chased after her. “Maybe this will come as a shock to you, but I need to keep a low profile.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “You’re on Coruscant, Mando. No one cares who you are or what you do, or where you came from. Here, you just let me do the talking. And give me the kid.”

“No.”

“Look, I’m not gonna—”

Din drew his blaster and pressed it none-to-gently into ribs he knew were still heavily bandaged. “I said  _ no _ .”

Zethu batted the blaster away, but backed off, glaring at him and rubbing her chest. “ _ Fine _ ,” she growled and Din heard her curse in Arkanian. 

They picked up an airtaxi without an issue, heading in no particular direction, but Zethu seemed to have a vague idea of direction. Din wanted to ask her when the last time she had been on Coruscant had been, but Zethu didn’t seem to be in the sharing mood anymore. And she had been right about one thing, no one seemed to be paying them any serious attention. 

His armor caught a few curious glances, but for the most part the city was teeming with folk just trying to reach their destination. Most never even bothered looking up from where they were driving or walking. Zethu continued to steer them on. They rose a few levels in the planetary city, but not too high. Judging from the decor they were still in the seedier underbelly, and that was fine by him. 

Din was in danger of getting completely lost but Zethu brought them to a dimly lit hotel where a female Rodian greeted them in her language. As Zethu promised she did the majority of the talking. 

“A room for me and my partner, please,” she said. 

The Rodian said something that made Zethu laughed. Admittedly his Rodese was a little rusty, but he was positive they were talking about him. “What? No, you think he’s a real Mandalorian? Trust me, friend, you  _ don’t _ want to know what he had to do to get that armor.”

At the Rodian’s response Zethu reached into her pockets for a handful of credits, sliding an appropriate amount over to the receptionist and, with two fingers, sliding a few extra back. “A tip,” she winked. “We were never here.”

The Rodian responded with a little bow, taking her extra credits. “Hah! Exactly, city’s so big all types of people come this way,” Zethu said with another big smile as she gestured for Din to follow her to the lift. 

The minute the doors sealed she let out a breath and the jovial expression on her face melted away. “Rodians are so easy,” she said without malice or much of anything at all. Those colorless eyes held no visible animosity, but there was a hard line around her mouth. All business again. 

The lift let them out in a suitably comfortable space. The child, as if sensing they were in a relatively safe area, wriggled free of his grip and wandered into the room, climbing up on one of the two beds. “This’ll do,” Zethu shrugged out of her crimson jacket. “I’d say make yourself comfortable, but I doubt you will.” 

Neither was she. She wouldn’t stay still for a moment, checking cabinets, drawers, and thoroughly shaking out the bedsheets. Looking for possible surveillance? Hidden weapons? Probably both given their shady location. “You know I’ve always wondered, do Mandalorians actually  _ sleep _ with their helmets on?” she sniggered as she finished her sweep.

“While you’re here? Yes.”

“You’re funny, Mando,” Zethu winked as she unlatched the transparisteel screen, leaning out onto the miniscule balcony. The sounds of the city filtered into the room, speeders and hawkers, droid whistles and a steady  _ thrum  _ of music playing in one of the many clubs of the Undercity. “Never really had an excuse to get to know most of my marks before.” 

“You seem to know your way around. When was the last time you were planetside?” Din ignored her attempts to rile him up. He meticulously laid out his arsenal on the edge of his own bed, shifting the kid away from the rifle and vibroblades each time it waddled too close. 

“Eh...long time. Works good on Coruscant if you can get it and not upset the local mercs, but I prefer living in the Mid to Outer Rim,” Zethu wasn’t looking at him, content to sit herself by the balcony ledge and stare out towards the city. 

“Away from the Dominion.”

At that her gaze did snap back to him. She glared hard for a moment, before a little of that anger seemed to slough off as she gave a large sigh and roll of her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the screen. “Yeah. Away from them.”   


“A terrorism charge must make getting bounty work hard,” he counted the rounds of ammunition he still had, hearing Zethu’s hateful laugh. 

“You know for some crime syndicates it makes them give me a higher starting offer. When most people hear of you evading the Arkanian Dominion for two whole decades word gets around.”

“When people hear you kill your own without hesitation I imagine that gets around, too.”

“Oh  _ fuck you, Mando _ .” Din had never heard such malice from the merc before not even prior to their marathon fight. He turned around half expecting to see her ready to fling herself at him, weapons out, but she was still sitting patiently by the balcony, only her face showed the real wrath. Her body was poised and still. 

“I got the terrorism charge slapped on when I blew a couple of Adascorp facilities sky-high. Didn’t even know about it until I saw my name show up on someone’s datapad. House Adasca never leaves loose ends, but screw ‘em. Screw the damn Adascacorp, the Dominion, and every. Single. Arkanian, left on that iceball wreck of a planet. You don’t get to judge me, Mando. I was born in a dark, abysmal mineshaft with Arkanian overseers so harsh they wouldn’t even let my own mother  _ off her shift long enough to give birth to me _ . That’s how much an Offshoot miner’s life is worth where I come from. We were  _ genetically invented _ to obey and scrap and bow to our Arkanian masters. My parents tried to incite the miners to rebellion. Some great uprising of my Offshoot brethren that would “unite us all” or some absolute spacejunk. All it got was them shot by a firing squad while the rest of “my” people went on like nothing changed. I stole a freighter first chance I got. Should never have let anyone else on it. But some people in my mining crew found out. Said sure, why not. Better than going into the galaxy alone, right? Serves me right. Second we get spotted by Dominion ships half of them are blubbering about maybe we should just head back and ask for forgiveness. I wasn’t going back. So I shot the three who begged. That’s my big crime against my people, Mando. And I’d do it again. Survival is everything. What sins have your Mandalorians committed to stay alive that you get to judge me for mine?”

Din had nothing he could say to that. Zethu’s eyes never shifted from him, never flinched. The wind tousled her silver hair across her face as she shook her head at him, turning to stare back out the window. She took a deep, controlled breath in and it was only then Din saw how tight she had been clenching her fists against her lap. “I hate this damn planet,” she said quietly, the anger leaving her voice bit by bit so that she sounded smaller...sadder even than Din would have guessed possible. “You can’t see the stars here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the longer wait was worth it! If you're curious about some of the names Zethu dropped I highly recommend the wiki's for some good lore knowledge. But there'll be time for deeper convos about her past later.


	9. On Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Zethu continue their hunt while some complicated feelings start to emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a lovely thank you to those leaving kudos and comments!

She had stolen the speeder. 

A nice one, too, Din noted as they careened into Coruscant traffic, the little one whooping with glee, sticking its claws up in the air to catch the wind whipping up around them. Zethu drove them in complete, icy silence. 

In fact, she hadn’t said a word all that morning. Din had spent the better part of last night mulling over her words. She hadn’t been spinning him a story, of that he was absolutely certain. There was too much fury, too much pain in the retelling to have been a fake to garner some sympathy. Zethu Desh was both fugitive and terrorist, hunter and prey. It was more than relatable. It was a perfect mirror. 

And he hated that. 

The wind blew up Zethu’s silver hair, but she didn’t seem to mind, reaching one hand off the steering wheel to slick the strands back down over her ears. Her eyes widened in that half-second of stillness before she pulled them into a steep decline. Sirens and horns blared in all directions as Zethu plunged straight down multiple levels before yanking them sharply down a left lane, through the floating alley of one of the massive superstructures that made up the planet. 

“What are you doing?!” Din shouted, hands firmly around the child to keep it in place. He had nearly lost his grip on the kid and the sudden motion could have sent him flying out into the air. If this was a trap finally sprung— 

“Got a bad feeling,” Zethu snapped. “Someone’s following us.”

Din wanted to argue over her stupidity on making such bold moves based on little more than instinct, but he’d done worse himself. He craned his head back over his shoulder. It was impossible to tell if someone was truly following them in this traffic. He tried to make a mental note of some of the more obvious features on the speeders. A slate gray one was riding next to them, black to the right, and a silver one directly behind. 

Better to chance it. 

“Sharp right,” Din pointed and Zethu took it. 

“Hang on!”

She punched it so that they went flying up several levels again, swinging around a city block much to the drowned curses and honks of annoyed civilians. That sharp girn returned to Zethu’s formally stoic face and as they flew she couldn’t help put let out a small  _ whoop _ of excitement. It was a nice change of pace, Din thought, and flying in atmo in such a small craft always had a different feeling. 

He looked back behind them once more, most of the speeders were a sea of blended colors and unrecognizable features again. Maybe no one had been following them. Maybe Zethu had just wanted an excuse to pull some high-flying stunts. Maybe— 

The silver speeder flashed as it rose upwards again, directly behind them. 

A point for Zethu’s instincts, then. Din swallowed hard. Someone really was following them. 

“Silver speeder,” he said, settling back in and reaching for his blaster. “So much for ‘no one cares who you are on Coruscant.’” 

A snarl escaped Zethu’s throat, made especially jarring given the smile still fading on her face. “They promised me more time!” She gunned it as far as the engines would take them. 

“Don’t think it’s the imps, Desh,” Din grunted, catching a flash of blue paint along the speeder’s exterior. 

She hazarded her own glance and Din watched as all that bravado drained from Zethu’s face. She turned back to face the sky lanes. “Fuck,” was all she whispered before taking them once again into a deeper spiral. 

“Who are they?” he asked over the roaring wind, but Zethu wasn’t about to answer. 

Din slammed into the front of the speeder as a blaster shot struck them. They were armed? Most speeders for civilian use weren’t armed. Panic exploded all around them as speeders hit the brakes and dove or rose to get out of the way. Din even saw a pair of them crash rather spectacularly as Zethu navigated them out of the chaos. 

Din didn’t wait for permission, he tucked the kid firmly against his side and leaned back, blaster at the ready and fired two shots in quick succession. His weapon wasn’t going to be much of a match for actual cannons, but if he could knock out their engines then it really wouldn’t matter how had come to the fight with the bigger rifle. 

Zethu took them in a banked curve through another side alley. The building were losing their height in this district. She plunged them down to meet the new level, but they were exposed. An explosion rocked the speeder as their pursuer fired another volley of blasts just as they were leveling out. 

Din’s world became nothing but air and wind as the speeder tilted at top speeds, jostling its contents loose. Panic filled him as he heard the kid cry out in panic even as he slipped over the side. Din gripped the toppling edge of the speeder for dear life, legs dangling into the ether. He couldn’t possibly reach the kid and keep himself attached. 

And he didn’t need to. 

Zethu was holding the kid against her. She shoved the emergency brake down, leaving them suspended, but no longer plummeting. Grabbing her own blaster she fired at the silver speeder again and again and again. Most shots didn’t make a dent, but one sent the engine sparking and the speeder careening. She kept firing at it as it tried to dive. Din saw the red of the blaster fire reflected in her colorless eyes, matching the hatred on her face. Smoke spiraled upwards as the speeder disappeared. 

Din felt his hands slip. Frantically he tried to ignite the fuel in his jet pack but he hadn’t had the opportunity to refuel it since his last bout with the merc. “Zethu…”

“Mando!” 

She lunged across the speeder as his hand left the edge, grabbing his arm. He hadn’t expected that. The light played tricks here, especially in her strange otherwordly eyes. There was real panic there. She had one arm holding tight to the kid and even for all her athletic skill she was struggling just to keep him in place let alone pull him aboard. 

“I’ve got you.”

Nothing should have made him feel less reassured by that, and yet, he did. She gave him a strained nod and took a breath. Din felt...something grip him. He looked around, almost letting go of Zethu’s hand in the process. It was solid, but invisible. Something lifted him up and it wasn’t Zethu’s strength. It raised him high enough so that he could tumble back into the speeder. Safe. 

Zethu sat back against the seat, panting, sweat covering her face, slicking her hair to her skin. The little one broke free of her grip and latched itself to Din’s side, claws grabbing his hand as if to check he was ok. He tapped its head gently. “Thanks...both of you.”

Zethu piloted the ruins of their speeder over to a suitable landing platform where they abandoned the thing before it could crash for good. Din noticed she was still strangely exhausted, far too much for a simple chase to have caused. 

“At least we’re close,” she commented, checking her weapons. 

“Who were those people?” Din asked. 

“Adascorp.”

Only the most powerful corporation on Arkania, hell, most of the galaxy owed half their med bays and tech to them. “This damn planet,” Zethu tried to play it off. “Should’ve gotten a new helmet before coming here. Cameras everywhere.”

He was getting used to her moods now. He could practically feel her rage and fear radiating off of her. “Hey,” before he could stop himself he placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re on a job. If they interfere we’ll take them down.”

She stared at the hand on her shoulder and Din released her just as quickly. She gave him a shaky nod and stalked ahead. Din flexed his fingers as he fell into step at her side. She was surprisingly warm for such a cold exterior. He could still feel the heat in his gloved hand from where he had touched her practically burning into his skin. 

***

Zethu tried to shake the exhaustion coating her like an oil slick, but it remained clinging to her. She breathed, deep and calm as she walked alongside the Mandalorian, hands itching to grip the handle of her blaster. 

She wished she had her old modified pilot’s helmet with its safe tinted visor, its vocal modulator, and thin barrier to the outside world. She didn’t know why, but her senses felt raw, exposed. She had felt this way only a handful of times in her life. Sounds were so much louder now, and voices—a million things being said all at once—flooded her ears. She wiped a hand over her sweat-covered brow and marched gamely on.

They were close to the tech centers now, only a few more levels and blocks over. It would be faster if they still had the speeder, but she wasn’t about to risk stealing another one. Zethu kept her head low, eyes on the walkways and her boots. Any number of worldwide cams could have caught her the second she stepped out of the Razor Crest. It had been so long since she’d been on a planet with proper surveillance without a disguise. If it hadn’t been for those instincts of hers the Adascorp hirelings would have had the drop on her. 

Right now those same instincts were firing off all over the place, like a deep nerve open to the air. A brief interlude of calm came when Zethu saw a little green claw appear in her periphery. The kid was reaching out, tugging lightly on her hair with a smile. “Not now, little bug,” Zethu said, a tired smile on her face as the Mandalorian shifted it to the arm furthest from her. 

“I think I’m starting to see why you threw away your reputation for this one,” she remarked. The kid tilted its head away from the Mandalorian’s arm, smiling wide at her before ducking out of sight only to repeat the action. She did feel a little better. 

They made their way over to one of the lifts. Zethu took another deep breath to steady herself, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second. 

And she knew. 

She didn’t know how. She never knew how, but her instincts were never wrong. Snapping her eyes open, she pushed the Mandalorian behind her as she drew her weapon in the same breath and fired. 

The merc wearing the steel grey and blue of Adascorp fell without firing a single shot. “Run,” was all she said before grabbing hold of the Mandalorian’s free arm and tearing back into the chaotic city streets, screams from civilians filling the air and her ears, her mind. 

Terror, panic, fear, confusion. It all mulled together into a frenzy. Exhaustion still plagued her, but Zethu felt a new adrenaline lent her speed. The Mandalorian fired off a few shots of his own before focusing on escape. “Three more on us,” he said. “Oh, make that five.”

“Stop counting!” Zethu urged, knocking over crates and parked speeders to buy them a modicum of time. 

They couldn’t possibly hope to outrun them, but getting into a firefight in a major Coruscant street was not exactly ideal. It was only a matter of time before security made its way to where they were. 

“Through here, hurry.”

The Mandalorian lobbed a smoke grenade out into the crowd and tugged on her arm, taking her into a tight alley that was more of a crack between two buildings. With one fluid motion he pulled her against him, the little one between them both. There was no room to move. The cold, smooth beskar rubbed up against Zethu’s cheek as she found herself pressed against the Mandalorian’s chest. 

From beyond the smoke cleared and Zethu heard the sound of boots running past and the continued swearing and screaming of a confused populace. But the immediate danger was gone. 

In that stillness there was only the sound of their breathing. She was so close to him she could even hear the steady drum of his heartbeat through his armor. It was only then she became aware of the gloved hand against the back of her head, keeping her close in the cramped space. 

Breath caught in her lungs as she looked up at him, so close now she almost thought she could fool herself into seeing his eyes past the tinted visor. “That’s three times you’ve saved my life,” he said. Even with the modulator in his helmet the words were soft, mystified. 

“Thought I told you to stop counting,” she surprised herself by how quiet her own voice was in reply. 

The far-off sound of sirens broke through the tension with a sharp wail, startling them both. The hand at the back of her head fell away, replaced with a vague disappointment that Zethu could not explain. “We’d better get out of here.” 

***

By the time they got to the heart of the Tech Centers they had lost their pursuers. That didn’t stop Zethu from looking over her shoulder every few minutes. She still couldn’t shake the alien sensation pricking at the back of her mind. But each time she did the Mandalorian would give her a curt, reassuring nod and...a calm stole over her. Instead of that constant raw panic or rage urging her forward, pushing her on she—she wasn’t sure what it really was—focused? 

“How do you want to play this?”

Zethu gave her head a small shake, realizing she had been gawking at the Mandalorian for just a heartbeat too long. “We— _ I _ —actually planned on walking right in. You stay out here and keep watch, I’ll walk him out, we escort him back to the Razor Crest. You got your commlink?” She fished for her own in her jacket pocket. 

He nodded and that was good enough for her. She brushed past him to head towards the inner centers when a hand on her shoulder stopped her cold. 

“You could let me go inside,” the Mandalorian’s voice was tempered and even, everything opposite what was rolling through her head. “You could wait out here and whatever happens in there...you wouldn’t be responsible.”

Stars, but she would  _ never  _ understand this man. “Hide like a coward?” she shrugged out of his grasp and tapped a fist against his chestplate. “Didn’t I already break enough of your ribs once for that?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know what you meant, Mando. And I’m...grateful. But this is something I have to do.”

He didn’t try to stop her a second time and Zethu left him. The surge of endless emotions from every corner of the city center around filled her mind up again. As she walked she tried to fish for that calm. She didn’t like that it seemed to come from picturing that damned Mandalorian. 

A job was supposed to be a job. Simple. Impersonal. Efficient. She’d spent the better part of two and half decades living and hunting alone. Now the mark she’d been sent to bring back had saved her own life countless times. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of the vibroblade at her belt, not her own, but the Mandalorian’s. Why had he given her his own weapon? A shudder ran down her spine, and did he have her own blade in return? Was that some kind of alien custom? She just couldn’t understand him. 

The inner workings of the tech center were as labyrinthine as the Coruscant streets. Long corridors spiraled into wide, open rooms that all glowed with the steady blue of datapads and files. Workers and guests filtered in and out, only a few glanced her way, taken aback by her visible black eye and still-setting broken nose no doubt.  _ Just pretend you have business here _ . False confidence flooded through her as she strode towards an info desk, connecting up her own datapad to the info-control. 

A friendly welcome screen flashed on guiding her through the departments at the tech center. It was the work of a moment to find the staff info on Gedos Sal. Engineering dataminer in Building 3A of subunit 5. Simplicity at its best. She unplugged and leisurely made her way to the offices of the engineering department. 

“How’s it going?” a crackled voice at her comm asked. 

“Heading over to see our friend now,” Zethu said softly, friendly. Keep things casual, there’s no reason for anyone to wonder who or what she was talking about. She could see others chatting into their own personal comms and mini holoprojectors. “Why don’t you head over to the back of Engineering and we’ll meet you there?”

“On my way.”

A growing dread spread through her stomach as she entered the engineering buildings. It was just a regular tech office. Not nearly as big as the main center or some of the other fancier departments she had passed on her way here. The offices in subunit 5 were humdrum, recording and cataloging info on ships, mechanics, and the like. That dread grew thicker when Zethu caught sight of her target.

The older Offshoot man’s silver hair was nearly as white as the rest of him with age. He was hunched over a datapad, typing. He looked...stars he looked so much older than she remembered. Her mouth was dry. It was hard to swallow. She remembered him giving her half of his pay shortly after her parents had died. The overseers had docked her own the first year of her life as an orphan. Punishment for being the rebels’ child. Damn Crimson Dawn, could they have  _ known _ about their relationship? No, that was paranoia. There was no way…

“Can I help you?” a droid at the reception desk asked in a crisp tone. 

“Uh, yes, I...I’m here to see—”

“ _ Zethu?! _ ”

Gedos had turned about in his chair, colorless eyes wide as saucers. He appeared as dumbstruck as she was until he recovered himself, springing from his seat and rushing towards her. Zethu sucked in a breath through her teeth as he gripped her by the shoulders. “What are you doing here? How…” he lowered his voice and pulled her back and away from the reception desk. “How are you still alive? What’s happened to you?” he pointed to the bruises on her face.

“Long story, old man,” she tried to crack a confident smile. “I came here for you. Can we talk?”

“Me? Of...of course. I’m due for a break anyway.”

He walked out with her, as Zethu knew he would. No hesitation, not second guessing. Gedos didn’t even seem to think there was anything odd about her presence outside of her general continued existence. Just as she predicted. The plan was working accordingly. 

She just hadn’t been expecting him to pull her into an embrace as they left the subunit. He put a finger to her lips to silence her as he held her at arm’s length. “Before you say anything. I know what happened on the freighter. I won’t ask you why you did what you did, it’s history as far as I’m concerned.”

Zethu had figured. If Gedos had been working with Crimson Dawn prior to joining the Rebellion he’d have to have run into Atan and the others at some point on Numidian. “But what have you been doing since you fled?” Gedos pressed. “Why did you never return to Arkania?”

“And risk the wrath of Adascorp? It was already hell enough coming to Coruscant.”

“Your parents—”

“ _ Don’t _ lecture me about my parent’s Gedos!”

“Your parents would have wanted you to fight for the rest of the miners. Where did you go, Zethu? I thought for certain I’d see you with the other Rebels during the wars. You were never at any base I was stationed at. Why contact me now? I can tell from your face you’re in some kind of trouble. Always were. Will you stay in Coruscant? I should introduce you to my contacts. There’s a small community of other Offshoots working for the Republic, it’s a chance to reconnect with our people..”

“ _ Our people?! _ ” She should know better than to let Gedos rile her up. She tried to keep her voice down until they exited the main building, out onto the bright Coruscant streets of the upper levels. “The same people who let me starve while I was an orphan? The same cowards who wanted to beg for Arkanian mercy? Those are  _ not _ my people. I see you haven’t changed though. Still drinking my parents’ swill about rebellion and justice.”

Gedos’ mood shifted coldly. “Then why come to me now?”

Zethu stared on ahead, catching a flash of silver beskar as the Mandalorian waited near a side street. She said nothing, only steered them both in his direction. Gedos must have taken her silence for shame. “You know I did my best to keep their memory alive for you,” he said quietly. “They wouldn’t have wanted you to resent them, or your people. But you were always,” he shook his head. “...I would have thought you’d let go of your hate a long time ago, Zethu. Sometimes fighting to a better world means sacrificing the unthinkable.”

She shrugged off his hand on her shoulder. “Then they were fools. Survival is the only thing that matters in this galaxy. The only thing I can thank my parents for is giving me that early lesson.”

They were getting closer now. It was time. 

“I know you didn’t seek me out after all this time just to spite me, Zethu.”

“No,” she reached for the blaster at her hip. “Actually I’m here on business.”

Gedos looked at her confused, before he saw the blaster pointed at him. She kept it low so as to attract as little notice from the populace as possible and tried to ignore the guilt slowly gnawing at her ribcage. “Who would have ever thought the honorable Gedos Sal would have worked for Crimson Dawn? I’m guessing rebellion didn’t put food on the table, right?”

“ _ You _ ?” he seemed incredulous. “They sent  _ you _ ?”

“Not just her.”

Gedos started in surprise as he nearly backed up into the Mandalorian. Zethu could see the dawning realization that he had been herded spark in his eyes. But there was no fear there. He looked from the Mandalorian back to her with only dismay and disappointment. “I will not go quietly,” he warned. 

“I figured,” Zethu nodded. 

“Do you have any idea what they will do to me if you take me back to them?” Gedos hissed. “When I left Arkania there was...there were no options for me! I did what I had to do—”

“To survive?” Zethu felt a force squeeze her heart. “Don’t worry, Gedos. Crimson Dawn won’t do anything with you.”

He looked grateful. In that split second before Zethu pulled him in close, a hand about his shoulder, he regarded her with a look she hadn’t seen on anyone’s face since childhood: complete trust. 

And then she fired. 

The gratitude on Gedos’ face melted into shock. He fell forward against her, only her arm keeping him propped up. She dropped the blaster to catch him fully as he struggled to speak. Horrid gurgling sounds retched out of his throat as his weakening hands began to beat at her chest to get away from her. 

She knelt down, laying him out on that dirty side alley as he grabbed her by the collar, his face now a mask of twisted rage. “You shame...your family…” he choked, breath wheezing from burned out lungs. “You were right...you aren’t...one of us.”

She knew that. She had known that for her entire life. Why should a dying old man’s curse feel any worse? Gently, she tilted Gedo’s head upwards so his dead eyes could see the sun. “Stars guide you,” she whispered the old Offshoot words of passing. “May you walk into the light and never again know shadow, or darkness.” 

Slowly, and on shaking legs she rose to her feet, head bowed low. “Crimson Dawn would have kept him alive for days,” she explained, voice threatening to break against her will. She was eight years old again and holding on to Gedo’s dirty work sleeves sobbing as her parents were dragged away. “Tortured him.”

“It was a mercy,” the Mandalorian understood this time. She looked up at him with dry eyes and she knew he was staring right back at her through that masked visor. “Let’s move him back to the ship.”

“No,” Zethu stayed his hand. “He has to look into the stars for just a few more moments or his soul will be trapped in shadow. It’s our way.”

He remained standing at her side in silence as Zethu counted the minutes, she never removed her hand from his arm. She lost count momentarily as she felt the Mandalorian’s gloved hand slowly cover her own. At her nod he let go and bent to pick up the body of Gedos Sal. She didn’t even have to tell him to keep the man’s eyes open. He seemed to guess that wouldn’t be right. 

The little one latched on her leg, nudging her calf with its head. Gently she picked up the child and not for the first time wondered what the Imperials wanted with it. There came that sick feeling again, that shame and guilt, it would be another mercy to simply kill the kid so they’d never get the chance to tinker with it. Better still to kill its caretaker as well so he’d never have to live with the shame of failure. 

“I can’t…” she whispered. “I—”

“We’ll need to steal another speeder…Zethu? Let’s go.”

The horror must have still been evident on her face because the Mandalorian gave her a quizzical tilt of his head. “I won’t do this,” she said stronger this time. “I don’t know what the Imperials want with you or the kid, but I...I can’t...the imps will need to find someone else to do their dirty work, because it won’t be me!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE REALLY GETTING INTO IT NOW, FOLKS. You know what to do, drop a comment if you're enjoying the story or want to ask me any questions! You can also find me on Tumblr under the same username.


	10. The Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get right into it, shall we friends? :) A lovely big shout out to my reviewers and kudos-leavers. You are delightful!

The minute they reached the safety of hyperspace and were well on their way out of Coreworld space, Din felt the stress that had been pressing on him since they started this mission lift. He left the cockpit to find his former hunter sitting between two crates of supplies in what passed for a living quarters on the Razor Crest. The kid was with her, perched on one of the crates, watching her with concern. Its ears were pointed back and down with worry. 

He didn’t bother to usher it away this time. Zethu Desh, was no longer the enemy. 

Din took a hard look at the merc. All trace of that former cockiness and confidence was gone. Her shoulders were slumped, her head down. She was running a vibroblade over her fingers and back in an agility exercise, but she was hardly paying any attention. The bruises on her pale face had turned to a dull yellow-purple. 

“What will you do now?” He had thought about cracking some sort of joke, but humor, even his dry version of it, felt ill-placed here. 

She looked up at him, brow furrowed. “I don’t know.” She sounded lost. “Get a new contract, I guess,” a shrug. “Might as well stay on Numidian for a bit. Lay low. I can hitch a ride back to Nevarro to get my Lancer once the heat dies down.”

Defeat hovered around her. How hard it was to spend your whole life clawing to get to some semblance of normalcy and routine only to have it ripped away. For his sake. He wouldn’t feel guilty, had no right too, but Din saw keenly her displacement. “You could stick with us.”

Zethu’s shock mirrored his own. The offer came instinctively. She had been nothing but trouble to him since they had met, a constant threat that had come close to ending him more than once. Even now she could still be baiting a trap. He remembered his first meeting with her, how congenial she had been before turning a blaster on him. There were other things he could recall as well. Her pushing the kid out of the way of a rockslide without hesitation, her pushing him back away from blaster fire, and her leaning out over the side of the busted speeder as he hung over thin air, pulling him up out of the ether. 

_ I’ve got you _ .

“I don’t need your pity,” Zethu’s cruel snap brought him back to reality.

“Not pity.”

She regarded him with wary eyes. The blade still undulated across her fingers like water as she nervously fidgeted. “So...what? You just travel across the galaxy picking up strays?” she nodded at the child. 

“The child is a foundling,” Din ruffled the kid’s ears as he made his way over, sitting atop the opposite crate. “Until I can either find its kind or it comes of age, it’s in my care and under my protection.”

Zethu’s eyes shifted from child to man before her face split wide and she let out a surprised, disbelieving laugh. “What, are you serious? Do all Mandalorians just go around adopting helpless creatures then?”

“This is The Way.”

“Well, sorry but I’m not looking to be adopted by anyone. Disappointing one species is enough for me, thank you.” Zethu stopped fidgeting with the blade, letting it rest, half tilted down, the sharp tip still balanced between her fingers. “Lucky kid,” she said with a small smile. “Maybe if someone like you found me when I was still young my life would have been different.”

“Still could be.”

The process for conversion was different for adults than foundlings. It was rare, but certainly not unheard of and—why in the galaxy was he jumping so far ahead? Letting Zethu loose among his own kind brought back the images of the sleek vornskr she reminded him so much of. Predatory, proud, and dangerous to their core. Not two standard days ago she was still threatening to kill him. Zethu had a faraway look in her eye, and the same sad smile hadn’t moved from her lips. 

“You know I almost got sent off to some fancy school in the Core?” She turned her head towards him. “Was too young to remember much and the war was on in full swing. But I remember my parents arguing with some Togruta about sending me,” she shrugged. “Maybe it was some scam or other, but I never stopped wondering what I’d be doing with a fancy education offworld. Been brought up respectable. Away from Arkania. What about you?”

The little one had snuck into Din’s lap, curling up rather happily. He put a hand against its head. “Not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on. I spill my guts and you get quiet?” She leaned her head back against the metal wall, fixing him with a look of open curiosity. 

Din shrugged. “Grew up during the wars, too. Family died during a battle and the Mandalorians took me in. That’s all there is to tell.”

“Look at us—ship full of orphans.”

Short, silver hair fell over her eyes and Din made himself look away. When those colorless eyes weren’t trying to stab you with rage or hatred, a person could get lost in them. “So…” he cleared his throat, “we land on Numidian and you go your way, that’s it?”

“Simple,” she nodded. “I doubt the imps are going to take kindly to my reneging on our deal.”

The alarm signaling their drop out of hyperspace began to blare and with reluctance Din rose to his feet to head back to the pilot’s chair. Zethu stood as well, laughing softly to herself as the kid raised his arms to be picked up, which she obliged, pocketing the blade before the child could start reaching for it. 

“You are more than just a merc, Zethu Desh,” he said before he could stop himself. 

Confusion laced with something akin to panic flashed across her face at his words. “Sometimes what you see is what you get, Mando,” she whispered, almost as if she couldn’t fathom summoning enough breath to answer him.

He’d seen her fight like a true warrior, a protector first on instinct, the rest all learned behavior. A creature of pure survival, like him, she had been right he had no place to judge her and she had proven herself. But what use convincing her when she would not see these qualities in herself? “Strap in,” he grunted, starting the climb up. “Numidian is never an easy landing.”

***

She couldn’t get the Mandalorian’s words out of her head. Most of her life had been lived alone since her exile from the rest of the Offshoots. She was sure she had committed almost every reprehensible crime in the galaxy. She owed no one loyalty, and no one owed her. It was better that way. Survival above all. Every day alive was a victory over the Arkanians, over her parents, over every other Offshoot that had wanted her to be something she never would. 

So what did it matter what this one Mandalorian thought?

No one stopped them as they walked right through the outpost’s gates with the carbonite corpse of Gedos Sal floating between them. Zethu stared straight ahead, trying not to look at the body of the man who had cursed her with his dying breath. 

_ Shame _ . That’s all she was, and if the Mandalorian had any brains he’d see that, too. Maybe letting him and the kid go was the one good thing she would ever do in her life. It hardly made up for anything. She still could barely believe why she was letting him go when her every survival instinct was screaming at her to get the jump on him, get the job done, take the payout and regard her hesitation as a rare moment of weakness and never think about it again. 

She couldn’t.  _ She couldn’t _ . No realization frightened her more. 

They were met at the loading docks by the same severe Corellian woman who had sent them on their assignment. No fancy pent house office meetings this time. That suited Zethu fine. She was already itching to get the credits, pay for passage, and get on her Lancer far far away from the chance of running into any other Offshoots or Mandalorians ever again. 

“Such efficiency!” The woman spread her arms, ruby lips open in a charming smile. 

“He didn’t come quietly,” the Mandalorian spoke for them both. “Had to be put down.”

“Ah, a pity,” the woman nodded, checking over the carbonite slab, examining it as if it was some shiny piece of new tech. “But what’s done is done,” with a snap of her fingers an aide stepped forward with two separate pouches. 

Zethu took her half of the payout, tucking it away into her belt. She felt sick. 

“Our business is concluded. Feel free to enjoy our hospitality for as long as you remain on Numidian,” that smile again. “And as long as you refrain from shooting up any more of my employees. I should be greatly disappointed to put a bounty on your heads next,” she laughed and strode away on her heels, her guards taking control of the carbonite. 

And just like that Gedos Sal was gone, as if he never had existed in the first place. Zethu had a powerful desire to gamble and drink those credits down as fast as possible. “So…”

“So.”

There was no more contract keeping them together, no truces, no bounties. Zethu shifted awkwardly in the silence. “Stay for a drink?”

He tilted his head at her. “Not really my scene,” he gestured to his helmet. 

“Oh. Right.”  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ . “A walk, instead? Bet the lil’ bug could stand for stretching its legs.”

As if in answer the kid poked its head out from under the Mandalorian’s cloak where it had been hiding. “You know you  _ can _ come back with me as far as Nevarro, right?” The Mandalorian sighed, but he fell into step alongside her just the same. 

They walked out of the outpost, both realizing the gambling dens and catinas wouldn’t exactly make for a peaceful stroll; however much Zethu was still itching to burn those credits. Already she could feel the creeping flood of the inhabitants fears and excitements. Or maybe she was just projecting her own anxieties. 

As they exited the outpost and into the jungle trails that deluge in her mind receded and Zethu embraced the calm of the forest, and the silence of her walking partner. The landing bay was just behind them. They’d make a circuit and walk back. The little one was already toddling on ahead, following a jumping mantis-like insect. 

“Where are you two bound?” Zethu asked after a time. 

“The last time I was here I was looking for information on the kid’s people,” he explained. “Only got as far as ‘Jedi’ before I was...interrupted.” 

A low chuckle rumbled through her. “Be glad it was only an interruption. That distraction ended up saving your life, Mando. Hmm...I’ve heard that term once or twice by the way. Some kinda monks, right? Hey, if I hear anything more in my travels you’ll be the first I tell.”

“Thanks.”

In truth the few times she had ever heard the term Jedi was in hushed, frightened whispers here and there. She wasn’t really sure who they were. A religious order? Crime syndicate? It was as if people were afraid to even let on they knew the name. That would make getting intel extremely difficult and—hang on why was she already committing to going off on some star’s addled chase already?

The wind picked up around them rustling the leaves on some of the lower ferns. Blinking into the dappled light, Zethu noticed that all the rest of the leaves further down didn’t seem to be moving. Odd.

“Should probably head back,” the Mandalorian said. 

“Yeah...hey, it was...good to meet you—”

“Din Djarin.”

He held out a hand. Zethu found herself staring before she reached out to shake it. “Din,” she smiled as he squeezed her hand just a little tighter as she said his name. It suited him, she thought, almost like she had already known his name.

“Offer’s a standing one,” he said, still not taking his hand from hers. “Would rather have you watching my back than trying to kill me any day.”

She laughed. “See ya, Din.”

“Hey,” he released her head and looked around. “Where’s the kid?”

Zethu also looked about, no sign of the little one anywhere. “Hey kid!” she shouted. She could see its distinctive footsteps leading off in a straight line through the jungle. “Probably just kept walking on ahead, shouldn’t be far.”

She shouldn’t be pleased this gave her more time with Din, but he was past paying any attention to her. He tore on ahead, focus solely on making sure his charge was alright. “There’s a clearing, I see it. Probably there,” he muttered, following the tracks. 

So he didn’t see the ships before Zethu did. 

“Din...Din run…”

But she couldn’t get enough breath to properly warn him. He was moving too far ahead and too fast. He finally saw right at the crest of the clearing. The freighters surrounded by Imperial stormtroopers. At least they found the little one, in the arms of an ex-Imperial officer. And at the center of it, her employer. 

Din had his blaster drawn. “ _ Let the kid go _ !” If Zethu had thought she had seen the full wrath of the Mandalorian she had been dead wrong. Even with the modulator and the armor she could  _ feel _ rage in its purest form radiating off of him. 

A dozen blaster rifles aimed for him at all once and Zethu felt her heart drop into her stomach at alarming speed. 

“That would be a mistake,” Moff Gideon strode forward towards Din, completely unaffected by the display. He stood tall, with a military grace and confidence that only came from years of effective leadership. Threats were beneath him, Zethu knew this. Even in her short experience working for the man, Gideon only ever made promises. 

“You had an admirable run, but here we are. I have what I came for. Put down the blaster, Djarin or it won’t be you my men shoot.” The implication was impossibly clear. Din faltered for a moment as the blasters shifted towards the baby. 

“Ah, Zethu Desh, there she is, exactly on schedule.” Any hope of the imps not having noticed her died in that moment. She reached for her own weapon but found her hand gripped tight in Moff Gideon’s grasp. “I commend you for a job well done and let it not be said I am not a man of my word,” he slapped a bag of credits into her hand. 

“No...I…”

“You?” 

Din turned his head and Zethu did not need to see his eyes to feel his betrayal. It was everywhere in that one, quiet, pained, word. She shook her head, but Gideon’s pull was stronger. 

“Many of my staff felt you had gone rogue, but when we were so helpfully informed that you and Din Djarin were here on Numidian, I knew we could coordinate to plan. Thank you for leading him and the asset out. Take him.”

Gideon was stronger than he appeared. Zethu struggled in his grip as some of the stormtroopers approached. Din lashed out, dropping one with a solid punch and sending the other reeling backwards with another well-placed blow. “I wouldn’t delay,” Gideon said, not for a second taking his eyes off Zethu. “The longer I am made to wait, the more unsteady my men’s trigger fingers become.”

The kid let out a cry as the officer holding it placed her own blaster to its head. “Din,  _ don’t! _ ” Zethu shouted. All further cries were silenced at the prick of a blade against her belly. Gideon had her, concealing the weapon with his own body. 

Panting, Din whirled about, aiming his weapon at the circle of troopers helplessly before giving out a cry of frustration, throwing down the weapon. The troopers moved in then, latching stun cuffs onto his wrists before he could think to attack again. 

“Get them onto the ship.”

“No!” Zethu choked as the blade dug in, she felt it begin to draw blood through her jacket. 

Din was tugged forward by one of the stormtroopers. He looked back at her. “Traitor,” he hissed before being led onto the ship. The little one crying in fear after him. Zethu glared fire at Gideon, struggling harder at the sound, gagging in pain as the blade drove another inch further in. 

As soon as he had his prizes Zethu found herself released. She tried to run for the ship, but was backhanded by Gideon, sending her sprawling onto the underbrush. “My advice to you, Zethu Desh, would be to take your money and get out of this system” he spat, contemptuously. He wiped the blade with a kerchief before sheathing it. “If it hadn’t been for our point of contact with Crimson Dawn we might have missed this little rendezvous. As it stands...I have what I came for, you have your money, and if…” he loomed over her. “You think to interfere in anyway after this I will revisit letting you live, but I believe the Mandalorian won’t be accepting any further help from you.”

Rage. Hot, red, and burning exploded behind Zethu’s eyes. Blood roared in her ears as she lunged at Gideon. She had no weapon in hand when she attacked. It wasn’t too late to hold him hostage herself and negotiate terms. Or to tear him apart. 

The blaster shot felt more like an inconvenience than a real threat. Half mad with anger, Zethu simply cast her hand out to shove the incoming plasma bolt aside like an annoying pebble. She felt something shift against her, like a thread, and the bolt never struck her. 

Vaguely she was aware Gideon was firing again, but there was only a red hazy mist over her. He was backing away towards the ship and the soldiers who had far more firepower than a single blaster. 

“Although our contract is concluded, Zethu, you should know,” Gideon stepped up onto the boarding ramp. “I have neglected to fulfill one half of our full bargain. I believe this is a worthy enough trade given the trouble you have seen fit to cause me. Best of luck with the Dominion.” 

Blood was running down from her stomach, but she ran anyway. The boarding ramp was lifting. Gideon was already out of sight. The child was gone. Din Djarin was...gone. In her rage she threw her vibroblade at the hull of the ship. 

That tether from before reared back through her, pulling muscle and sinew with a weight Zethu had never felt before. All the breath left her lungs, her blood seemed to heat in her veins. And for one startling moment it looked as if the ship had lowered in the sky before she collapsed into unconsciousness in the now quiet and peaceful jungle clearing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twists and turns abound! :D Another chapter will be heading your way possibly later this week or at the start of next week! In the meantime do drop a comment or leave a kudos....even if it is just to yell at me for this particular atrocity of a chapter.


	11. Escape Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer than usual wait! I ended up splitting this chapter into two parts because it was getting bonkers long! D: But it's here now, and I hope you enjoy!

Zethu came to in a haze of pain. It bled outward from the wound in her stomach flowing into every limb and bone. Groaning, she sat up. Her eyes were pounding, her head was a cut open drum. Rolling over onto all fours, she retched up bile. .

Her hands shook as her vision returned, the mist of red left her eyes as the bright greens and purples of the forest around her soothed the ache in her head. The sky was clear, with only the lightest of clouds slowly tracking its way above the canopy. In the distance Zethu heard branches crack in the breeze and alien wildlife chittering and squawking. 

_ Traitor. _

She retched again. She’d been called that many times in her life. Once after her parents had died and she had chosen to survive another winter by reporting delinquent workers to the Arkanian overseers, and again when she stood over the smoking corpse of Atan’s brother in the escape freighter. She had deserved it all. But Din…

She rose to her feet, one hand pressed against her stomach. The wound was not a deep one, but it bled persistently. Wincing, she picked her way out of the forest. Every part of her was drained, and aching. Like it had been back on Coruscant after the Adascorp spies gave chase. She broke into a hobbling run as the outpost came into view.

Stumbling up the long ramp to the upper landing bay, Zethu paused to catch her breath, leaning out over the railing. Her chest was tight, a riot of emotions all struggling through her blood, clamoring through her head like a million sharp voices drilling through her eyes. She shut them tight. Only a few times in childhood could she remember these spasms. Her little episodes, her mother had called it. When the world was too vast, too open, and yet there was no room for her. 

Pulling through the old breathing exercises she always fell back on in times like these Zethu opened her eyes once again. If everything had been an overwhelming haze of emotions, color, and sound, now it was all in a narrow focus. She was surprised none of the Crimson Dawn guards stopped her when she entered the landing bay. She eyed them with a snarl, hands itching to throw a punch. 

Anger was good. Anger deadened the pain in her limbs and gave her a spring to her step. And if it made the guards shift away from her as she approached the Razor Crest—well, that was only a marvelous side benefit. No one stopped her from entering the ship. She fully expected alarms to sound, blasters primed and aimed, but it never came. 

The ship was empty and silent as the doors closed behind her. 

_ You are more than just a merc, Zethu Desh. _

Served the Mandalorian right for judging her. The bag of credits felt heavy around her belt and Zethu unclipped them, weighing them in her hand. There was enough to keep her in fuel and supplies for months, with some extra to upgrade her weapons—maybe even to get a new helmet. 

She could even sell the ship. After all she was still alive. It was bad fortune that brought the rest of the imps down on their heads, but she had survived. Good intentions didn’t matter, she thought, feeling another wave of nausea steal over her. It didn’t matter that for one foolish second there was one person in the whole of the galaxy that thought she was better. And that she, for an even shorter moment, had believed them. 

Zethu dropped the credits and slammed her fist into the durasteel plated wall. Her knuckles crunched, but didn’t break. “Damnit,” she hissed, leaning hard against the side of the ship. 

What were the rest of the Imperials going to do to that little kid? She hit the wall, lighter this time but with no less rage.  _ Just block it out of your mind! It’s not your responsibility!  _ How many people had she killed for credits? But one man and his little brat get taken and suddenly it was the end of the kriffing universe. 

She stalked off, feeling as if she could pull the ladder clean off its hinges as she made her way to the cockpit. It was so impossibly  _ empty _ in here! Zethu mussed her silver hair, nails racking against her scalp. She took a seat at the pilot’s chair and turned the engines on. Her hand shook as it hovered over the accelerator.  _ Damnit, it’s not my fault!  _ So the job didn’t go right, so what? 

She just had to get off this planet. That was all. Punching it she careened out of the outpost with reckless anger and made a risky altitude climb. She just had to see the stars. Had to get out into the clear, cold, hard focus of space. 

_ Your parents would be ashamed! _

_ Arkaninan bootlicker! _

_ Traitor! _

_ Turncoat!  _

_ Offshoot scum! _

Zethu screamed in frustration as she broke through the atmosphere, breathing hard in the dark silence now all around her. Distant stars winked at her through the viewport, quiet, with no voices, and no judgement. 

The Outer Rim would be a good place to start on ducking the Dominion again. No doubt Gideon would have helpfully given their ships a last known location. She’d avoided them all her life, this would not be any different.  _ See, this is what you get for going soft! _ She chided herself,  _ you could have been flying pretty with the Dominion off your tail for good _ . 

Maybe she ought to fly out somewhere into the Unknown Regions. Hell, maybe even try her luck with wild space, just pilot out to some planet and pray it was hapitable. Zethu fell back against the chair, pinching the bridge of a still-bruised nose. Looking down she pulled out one of the vibroblades on her belt, turning it slowly in her hand. Why had the Mandalorian given her this? 

“I must be out of my mind…”

Before she could talk herself out of it, Zethu punched in the coordinates to Nevarro and made the jump to lightspeed.

***

This was risky. No, worse, it was stupid, the absolute most insane thing she had ever done in her entire life. Zethu made a furious pace across the Nevarro city’s main square, or what passed for one. She remembered the way to the cantina from her last eventful visit and threw open the doors. 

“Is there a Cara Dune here?” 

All eyes were on her, not something she relished. The place was crawling with hunters and mercs of every race and species. “What you all go deaf?” Zethu strode in. “I asked where the hell Cara Dune was!”

“Who’s asking?” 

Zethu would have recognized the tough looking soldier anywhere. Cara calmly sipped from a cracked mug at a corner booth. There was an older man opposite her, one Zethu did not recognize. He seemed nervous, glancing first at her, then at Cara. He had every right to be. Trying to ignore the stares she had accrued, Zethu marched right over to the booth. 

“I’m not here for a fight,” she said as the man reached directly for the small blaster at his belt.

“Damn, Din really did a number on you,” Cara laughed into her drink. “Had to roll you in so many bacta patches after I knocked you out, thought you’d suffocate and save us all a lot of trouble. So, how was Coruscant?”

“You got a ship?” Zethu pressed her palms into the table, leaning forward. Cara was right, she probably did look a mess. Hair disheveled and unwashed, bruises still mottling all over her face and neck, shirt—fortunately hidden under the jacket—stained with blood. 

“Wha—”

“How many weapons do you think you could get in...an hour? Less?”

Cara put down her drink. “What happened on Coruscant?”   


“Imperials. They came and—”

Zethu never had the chance to finish. Cara was up on her feet and pinning her face down onto the table so fast Zethu had no chance to stop it. She gritted her teeth as Cara snapped her arm back over her opposite shoulder at an unnatural angle. “I  _ knew _ he was an idiot for trusting you. Ok, merc, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to tell me where the hell Din and the kid are or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“I don’t know!” Zethu grunted, groaning at a higher pitch as Cara wrenched her elbow up higher. “I came here to ask for your help!”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“No, it’s the truth, it’s the truth!” Zethu was up on the tips of her feet to try and get the pressure off her arm. “Imperials took him after we made the drop on Numidian. I was...I was going to cancel my contract! Crimson Dawn sold us both out, it wasn’t me! I’m trying—” she coughed, “I’m trying to help save them!”

“Cara, perhaps you should let her go before you snap her arm off,” the older man interjected. 

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen this one fight. Crazy as a vorn tiger.”

“Look!” Zethu struggled in Cara’s grip. “You can kick my ass all you want to later, but right now I got an ex-Imperial prison ship to storm, but it’s kinda hard to do that on my own so I  _ thought _ you might wanna help your friend.” 

With one last vicious shove Cara released her hold on Zethu’s arm. “Alright. Start talking.”

Wincing and rotating the abused limb, Zethu straightened up. “Thanks. And I was telling the truth before. I don’t know where the ship went once it left Numidian. But I can tell you where I was first contacted by the imps. It was near the Lasan System. Lots of crazy stuff that close to Wild Space, but that’s where the first signal came in. I don’t know if that’s where they’d take Din, but it’s all I got. I swear.”

Cara still looked as if she was about ready to murder her. “Why would you come back to us for help?”

“Temporary insanity.”

“And you think the two of you could bust through a secret Imperial outpost?” the older man interjected. “You’re gonna need a hell of a lot more firepower.”

“Well, Greef, you got any suggestions?” Cara asked. 

“As a matter of fact…”

***

They hauled the last of the crate of fuel cells and blasters that Greef Karga had supplied into the Razor Crest. Zethu was still on edge and she hadn’t yet ruled out the fact that her mind had completely snapped somewhere between here and Numidian. Cara Dune was still eyeing her like she intended to throw her into deep space as soon as they left orbit. Honestly she didn’t blame her. Suffocating in a vacuum would feel a damn sight better than how she felt now. 

Heading up to the cockpit, Zethu went up to the pilot’s controls by habit only to find herself shoved roughly to one side by Cara. 

“No way you’re flying this thing. I trust you about as far as I can throw you—”

“Which I’m sure would be pretty far actually,” Zethu quipped.

“Sit down, shut up, keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”

She did so, folding up reluctantly in the passenger seat behind Cara. This was the second time she was leaving her Lancer behind. Somehow she doubted she’d be back for it. “You know if I wanted to sell you out, too, I wouldn’t have come in person.” 

Cara took them out to space and Zethu tried not to think about the million other things she could have been doing if she had just walked away from all this. “I warned Din you’d renege the truce—”

“I told you, the only deal I tried to renege on was the one I had with the imps!” Zethu snarled. “You really think I’d go through all this trouble otherwise? What do you think I stand to gain here?”

“You’re a merc.”

“And a damn good one!” Zethu pressed her fist against her knee. “I keep my word. I don’t break contracts. So, I don’t particularly like this anymore than you do.”

She grimaced as they shot to lightspeed, heading out for the Lasan system. “Why do it then?” Cara asked, turning about in the pilot’s chair to stare at her. 

Zethu didn’t have an answer for her. Her knuckles pressed against her lips as she leaned one arm atop her leg. She couldn’t meet Cara’s gaze. 

_ You’re more than just a merc, Zethu Desh _ .

“I don’t know,” she said softly, looking out the viewport at the blur of hyperspace. 

Much to her surprise the ex-soldiers began to laugh. Zethu snapped her gaze back to her. “Yeah, Din kinda has that effect on people. Doesn’t say much, but makes you want to be...better. Right?”

Zethu didn’t want to think about this anymore. It hurt her head. “Just fly the ship.”

“Have a plan for the imps? If we find them?”

“Same as most of my plans: kill them before they kill us.”

They came out of hyperspace with that familiar lurch. This far out on the edge of the known galaxy the return to regular space brought no relief. It was disorienting with few planets or local stars to mark the map. “None of the Star Destroyers I was expecting,” Cara said, staring at the empty expanse. 

“Like I said, it was just a guess.” 

Zethu pushed down the fear that was creeping up her throat. She had no leads, nowhere to go, nowhere to look. It wasn’t like she could stroll back into Republic controlled space and just  _ ask  _ where they thought the Imperial remnants might be hiding. If she couldn’t find Din or the child, no one ever would. The fear and panic coiled right under her ribcage, burning so hot Zethu fought to think. 

She gave her head a small shake, feeling that heat shift into a physical point of pain and light in the back of her head. She blinked rapidly. There was a tether unraveling from somewhere within to...Zethu raised her eyes to the viewport. She was getting one of these feelings again, the ones she could never ignore. But this one felt different, it was outside of herself. And it was terrifying. 

“They’re in this system,” Zethu said with a quiet confidence. Where that came from she had no idea. Cara was looking over at her like she had lost her mind for good. 

“And just how do you know that?”

“Instincts. They’re never wrong. Look, I can’t explain it, sometimes I get a good feeling about something. And right now all my instincts say to chart a course out there,” she pointed at the brightest object in view. “They’re here. And we have to hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I've been looking forward to this chapter and the upcoming one since I started this fic! Ah! I'm so excited to share it. :)


	12. Breakout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the extra long delay on this. Real life caught up with me for a bit, as I suppose it's caught up with all of us right now.

“I’ve scrambled our signal,” Zethu grunted. “Are we up past their viewports yet?”

“Almost,” Cara said through gritted teeth as the two of them tried to occupy the same space. 

Zethu was hovering over the controls, balancing precariously as the ship tilted into a sharp climb. Two pairs of hands were better than one in a time like this. Cara focused on getting them up and over the lone Star Destroyer while Zethu prayed she had hidden their signal in time. The damn ship had come out of nowhere as soon as they had past planet Lasan. They hadn’t even seen it at first hovering in dark space. 

Zethu did not feel any better about being right. 

“I don’t think they spotted us,” Cara exhaled in relief. 

They hovered well behind the stern of the Destroyer, out of the line of sight of most viewports. After a few more tense moments of silence, Zethu gave a nod of agreement and stepped back from the controls, letting Cara up from the pilot’s seat. 

“How did you know they’d be here?” She asked with a jab to her chest. 

“You should be more focused on how we get in,” Zethu moved the accusatory finger away from her as she made her way to the ladder. 

Cara snorted like that was the easiest question in the world to answer. “Auxiliary port.”

“What?”

“Open vents right below where I parked us. I open the hatch and we have about 6 seconds when the vent opens beneath us. That’s when we jump.”

“That’s great, how do we get back out?” Zethu imagined that if she could carry every single blaster rifle Greef had given them before they left Nevarro it still wouldn’t be enough to take out every Imp in the Destroyer. 

“Figured we’d improvise,” Cara grunted as she landed in the belly of the ship right behind Zethu. 

“Oh, I  _ hate  _ the sound of that,” Zethu laughed wrly as she tossed Cara a blaster and a couple of detonators. 

“Not much choice. You ready?” Cara’s hand was inches from the hatch doors. 

No she was not. All of this was so wildly beyond her Zethu felt as if a scream was stuck halfway up her throat. Taking on an entire Star Destroyer with just one ex-Rebel soldier? Rescuing a bounty that had already been paid for? This was suicide. No, worse, it was crawling with insanity. She already felt exhausted just from the hyperspace trip over. No time to dwell on that, or why her instincts seemed to be consuming her. Zethu gave Cara a nod and the hatch split open with a rush of oxygen. 

Zethu sucked in a breath as the ship depressurized only slightly. With the hatch over the ventilation ports, there technically was air still pumping up through the opening. Barely. She watched as the narrow opening shut and closed to the count of exactly 6 seconds as Cara had predicted. Cara was about to make the jump when Zethu shot out a hand to stop her. The soldier looked rightly annoyed, but Zethu signed for her to wait. 

There were troopers in the hall below. She knew that. She must have...she didn’t know...seen the whites of their armor in the quick flash of the port. Air was getting thin, and Cara was getting impatient judging from how she kept hitting her arm. 

They were gone. 

But Zethu’s headache was back. 

She released Cara and the soldier went diving right through the port as it closed swiftly behind her. Zethu made her own count before dropping in after. The sterile gray bleakness of the Imperial ship stood out in stark contrast with the grimey, well-lived in Razor Crest. They both had blasters out, but the corridor was entirely empty, thank the stars. Distant droid chatter and the hum of engines were the only sound in the area. The two women gave an understanding nod and began a steady, stealthy march ahead. 

As much as Zethu knew the Rebel soldier hated her, Cara Dune fell into sync without a word. When they turned corners, they both knew to instinctually take up either end of the curve to watch their backs. And when Cara wanted to shoot out the surveillance cameras, Zethu was able to silently convince her to simply let her hack them into repeating their footage. 

“This would be easier with a droid,” Cara mumbled out of the side of her mouth as the walked. 

“Holding cells are always at the lowest end,” Zethu whispered. “I don’t need a droid to show me a map for that.”

“Stars, it’s so  _ quiet _ ,” Cara steadied her grip on the blaster. “Trust me, I’m not complaining this isn’t exactly a full batallion, but I was expecting—you know—at least a little more resistance.”

“I’ll take quiet anxiety over fighting a whole legion of troopers any day,” Zethu said as they took a sloping corridor down the next level. “Not all of us are soldiers.”

So saying Cara slammed Zethu back against the corner of the wall just as a block of stormtroopers went marching past the hallway adjacent to them. Once they passed they resumed their search. “So, I look for Din and you get the kid?” Zethu whispered.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near him, merc.”

“Ok, I get the kid and  _ you _ get Din, how’s that?” 

“I hate it even more,” Cara grunted. 

“Well which do you hate less?” Zethu snapped as they approached the detention levels. “Because we’re going to cover more ground if we split our efforts. And how many times do I have to tell you, this isn’t a set up?”

“If it wasn’t for you neither of them would be in this situation. Fine, you get the kid. I’ll get Din. We'll meet back here at the entrance to the lifts.”

The detention level was wide and as silent as the rest of the ship. When the corridor branched into two separate hallways Cara went right and Zethu left. They were flying blind. There was no good indicator to predict if Cara would run into Din’s cell first or the child’s. She had to know that, but Zethu supposed the intention of finding him ahead of her was what mattered. Whatever helped her get the job done. As she turned down another blind corner she stumbled back quickly at the sight of three troopers guarded a cell block door. Given the state of the mostly empty Destroyer, a guarded cell seemed a likely spot to find either the kid or Din. 

Three of them, only one of her. Honestly, it didn’t even seem fair. The only problem was the hall was open with no places to hide as she made her approach. She’d risk running, but not even she was that fast. At least one of the soldiers could trip an alarm. She sheathed her blaster and pulled out one of the smoke grenades attached to her belt, and lobbed it as far as she could down the hall, praying that the sound wouldn’t  _ also _ set another alarm off. Zethu took a deep breath as the thick, cloying smoke obscured the hallway. 

At the first exclamation of one of the stormtroopers she sprinted as fast as she could towards them, a vibroblade in either hand. She did not need to see her prey to know exactly where they were. Instinct took over. She brought her first blade up just under the gap between the man’s chestplate heard him gurgle out a death rattle before she spun away, tearing the blade free and bringing the alternate blade slamming down into the second trooper’s helmet. Bone and plastoid crunched against it. She didn’t have time to contemplate how Din Djarin’s blade could cut through armor. The third trooper had the advantage of being the last to fall. He was able to back away from her and fire off a single, damning shot. 

Zethu hissed in anger before shoving the trooper’s dying comrade hard into him, slamming him back against the hall. She drove both blades down on either side of his collar. He died without making another sound. 

Zethu waited for what felt like an impossibly long time in the silence. No alarms sounded. Either the blaster fire wasn’t loud enough to call down another patrol, or something was very wrong here. She’d deal with whatever came. The smoke was clearing in the hall now and Zethu waved tendrils of the gray mist aside as she pressed her face up against the cell doors. “Din?”

No response. Either he couldn’t hear her, he was unconscious, or she had the kid’s cell. Grabbing one of the fallen troopers hands she pressed it up against the scanner lock.  _ Please be high enough level security, please be high enough level security.  _

The cell door slid open with the galaxy’s most satisfying click and Zethu gasped in a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her blades were still out in either hand as she stepped inside. The room looked more like a medical exam wing than a prison cell. A gurney with a vital signs monitor was against the far wall, the monitor emitting a few faint beeps. 

“Hey there, lil’ bug,” Zethu sheathed her weapons at the sleeping child’s face. What the hell were those imp freaks doing to the kid? It was strapped up in a metal collar, and Zethu could hardly understand the data scrolling up on the datapad along its front. She wrenched the collar off and scooped the baby up in one hand. The vital signs monitor quietly going about its job flatlined without its reading before it began screeching out a shrill, whirling high-pitched alarm and the hallway lights outside went red. 

***

The hatch was too small to fit a blaster through and there were no patrolling droids here to helpful hack through the inner lock. That hadn’t stopped Din from trying to force a way out since he got here. 

The cell door was battered, but the lock held firm. He had tried to look for a weak point in the seams of the door with no luck. His shoulders hurt from when desperation had kicked in and he had tried to bodily slam against them futilely. What could the rest of the imps be doing with the kid right now? It was the same question that had raced through him every single hour since being tossed in here. When he had broken the kid out of Imperial hold the first time they had had him strapped to some sort of machine. That Doctor Pershing had said he was the only reason the kid was still alive. 

Maybe the child was already dead…

Din took another run into the door, slamming full force into it with a grunt. He’d blow the entire Destroyer to atoms if that was true. But not before he had Gideon’s head. And then after, he’d go after the merc responsible for this. 

He did  _ not _ want to think about Zethu Desh, but the Offshoot’s face kept springing unbidden into his mind’s eye. He’d let his guard down. And she, dangerous and cunning as ever, had counted on it. _ Must _ have counted on it. He hit the door with a gloved fists as the memory of sad, gray eyes and her huddled, bereft form wormed into his head. Just an act, he reminded himself. And look where that had gotten him. 

Failure was the fear that dogged most Mandalorians. Failure of clan, of family, of self. The child had been counting on him to keep it safe, and he had  _ failed _ . 

He almost wished the imps would just come and interrogate him already. 

He tried again to brute force the doors. Pointless.

“Well, at least you made this easy on me with all the noise,” came the most impossible voice from outside the cell.

“ _ Cara?! _ ” He pressed his helmet against the thin slates, straining to catch a glimpse of his friend. He could just make out her blue-green armor and the blaster rifle at her side. Modulated, rough later escaped him. “How?”

“Escape now, questions later,” Cara winked. “Stand back.”

Din pulled away from the door as she fired on the lock. The cell slid open with a splintering whine and he ran to his friend, the both of them clasping arms. “Crazy bastard, thought you’d have already broken out and I’d find you hijacking this ship,” Cara grinned, relief evident on her face. 

“Had to give you time to catch up, didn’t I?” Din was already moving. The imps had taken his weapons and he had had enough wherewithal to watch which direction they had stored them. The cell at the furthest end of the detention block was patrolled by four troopers, but Cara didn’t need a second’s excuse to take them out. It wasn’t quiet, but with no one else to raise alarms it didn’t matter. 

Getting the doors open and gathering up his things, Din felt a small amount of confidence return. “Did you find the kid?” he asked, clipping his blaster to his belt and sheathing the vibroblades. He grimaced as he hefted the blade he had exchanged with Zethu. It had been a mark of respect for her endurance and fighting prowess. Now, he’d take the first chance he had to bury her blade into her heart. 

“We’re on it,” Cara replied, kicking the corpse of a trooper aside to take his fallen blaster. 

_ We.  _

“Who else is with you?” Had to be Karga, who else would be crazy enough to infiltrate a Destroyer full of Imperials? “Cara, how did you even know where I was?”

The shriek of an alarm set them both at high alert, weapons out. The stark white of the ship’s halls went red with the emergency lights. A blaster shot echoed from the far end of the detention block and the body of a stormtrooper went skidding into view, accompanied by a familiar, spine-rattling battle growl. 

To Din’s surprise Cara almost looked relaxed as she loosened her grip on her weapon and gestured with a roll of her eyes down the hall. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zethu Desh came careening down the hall, blaster in one hand and a carefully protected bundle in the other. The child. She had the child. Her eyes reflected the red from the alarms as she caught sight of him. Questions burst into his brain like laster fire but the only one he managed to speak aloud was: “You came back?”

She looked as stunned as he did, uncomfortably shifting her blaster in one hand and the kid in the other. Cara spoke for them both. “Came barrelling into Nevarro City, nearly tore her head off. You can have the honors later, but let’s get out of here before more troops come?”

Din took the kid from Zethu. It was fine. Sleeping. No visible markings or wounds that he could see. Second ago he had wanted to murder her. She stood silently before him, weapon out but not aimed for him. Her silver hair fell in front of her face, she could not or would not look up at him. Contrition was not something he ever expected to see on the normally brash and reckless merc. He had spent the last several days playing their reunion over and over again. Most of them ended with a blade in her throat, or a blaster through her heart. In none of those fantasies did he ever gently tilt her head up, look her in the eye and say, “Thank you.”

Zethu looked more shocked by that than by finding him alive. “You can...you can…” she seemed to be fumbling over herself. “You can thank or kill me later when we’re outta here,” and with that she turned to flank Cara at the end of the hall. 

The sound of pounding, approaching footsteps forced Din into action. He shifted his cloak so that it covered the kid, tucking him securely under his arm to provide some cover, he joined the two women. 

“Time to improvise?” Zethu asked. 

“If we can make it back to the airlock I can give you a boost up to keep the vent open,” Cara shouted as she fired off a shot. 

“Then we’ll need a clear path.”

Zethu launched herself into the fray. If the halls had been deceptively quiet they were no longer. A dozen guards stood between them and freedom. Din caught sight of the grim, deadly smile on Zethu’s face as she charged at them. The first guard she caught with the end of the blaster, batting him out of the way before she fired at the second wave. “Gideon send you out here to do his dirty work?” she taunted. “Holed up somewhere nice and safe? Too scared to say hello to an old friend?”

Din fell into step with Cara as they provided covering fire. This was the Zethu he remembered, racing through a hail of plasma bolts, killing indiscriminately and efficiently, no care at all for injuries—a bolt grazed her shoulder and it only seemed to make her angrier. It still felt surreal, her being here. The kid now safely back with him. He didn’t register the imps that fell before them, the fighting came instinctively. 

Cara and Zethu seemed to know where they were heading, tracing a path to the upper detention levels and beyond. 

“You sure about this?” Zethu shouted as they approached the airlock. 

“Nope!” Cara replied, downing another trooper. 

They moved in surprising tandem. Zethu crouched low and as Cara charged at her, she boosted her up through the vent as it opened. “Got it!” Cara grunted as she hauled herself back up onto….his ship? They had brought his ship out here? No time to dwell on it now, another wave of troopers was approaching fast. 

“Go!” Zethu snarled at him. “I can hold them off.”

For half a second Din thought about leaving her behind. It’s what she deserved, wasn’t it? But then he’d never know why she had come back. The kid stirred in his arms. And hadn’t he left this little one behind once before? 

“We’re getting out of here, together.” Din grabbed her and pulled her towards him, firing off the cabled grappling hook from his vambrace as the airlock vent opened once again. He felt the rush of air as it snapped shut, tearing off the very edge of his cloak and Cara lunged forward to decouple the Razor Crest from the vent. 

Silence. The alarm still rang in his ears, but they were safe. And free. 

“You can let go of me now.”

Din unwound the arm he had around Zethu’s shoulders. She took a step back, holstering her blaster. “Is the kid alright?”

He pulled the sleeping child free of the cloak. “I think he just needs to rest.”

“Good on him, but if we don’t get a move on we’re gonna be space trash soon. I wanna be well out into hyperspace before the imps can get to their ships!” Cara was already moving towards the cockpit. “You can have your inevitable fight later, but right now, let’s get the hell out of here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing I can say for being trapped inside for the foreseeable future is I can at least write without much else to distract me. I hope you are all staying safe, healthy, and well through all of this, lovely readers. I hope everyone can be out and back to normal soon! <3


End file.
